


You're Not Alone

by lunaseemoony



Category: Broadchurch, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Murder Mystery, Romance, Spoilers, Teninch Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-03-23 04:51:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3755131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaseemoony/pseuds/lunaseemoony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A grisly murder brings Britain's worst cop to Rose Tyler's doorstep. Can Alec Hardy bring himself to trust Rose enough to share more than just determination to avenge the murder of her neighbor?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just as a fair warning, there is a slight depiction of death towards the end of this chapter. It's nothing graphic in nature, but I figured it was worth mentioning just in case. 
> 
> Since the events at Broadchurch won't factor into this AU, any spoilers will relate more to Alec's character.

The sun hadn't yet set when Rose collapsed onto her couch. Her feet were so swollen they might have busted right out of her shoes, her legs had turned to jam, and she could barely keep her eyes open long enough to force down a few bites of a sandwich. But it was the _good_ sort of exhaustion that washed over her, like a quiet thunderstorm on a warm day.

Her mum's warning of working herself to the bone was playing in her head on repeat. And maybe she was working too much. But when she scanned her single bedroom flat that she'd finally been able to afford for herself by working at both Henrik's and the coffee shop nearby she suppressed this worry. Rose knew that her mum understood her needing her own place. What she couldn't understand was why Rose wasn't interested in getting an education. She'd sat her A levels at least, she often argued. But this wouldn't satisfy Jackie Tyler, who knew that Rose couldn't afford a flat of her own and university tuition at the same time. The flat was tiny, and barely furnished, but it was _hers_. It could be filled with Rose's own ideas, free from the influence of her well-intentioned mother and doting boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend.

That was still new. Rose had told her mum that it was a fresh wound still, that she didn't want to talk about Mickey because she'd cry again. That much was more for her mum's sake than her own if she was to be truthful. The mild and ever present ache that she felt was for their breakup, the loss of her boyfriend. Her oldest friend was still there to help her move out of his place, and had even agreed with Rose that they hadn't been properly in love in ages. It was a romance born of convenience and need, and that was how it had ended.

Rose only wished she'd ended it with Mickey sooner, long before she'd turned 25. When she first moved into her own flat she realized that all of her belongings were the same ones she'd had since she'd started her teenage years. She binned a great deal of pink items in her first few days alone. Somehow all these things seemed to turn a brighter, unnatural, almost neon pink in a less cluttered home. It was better to have a nearly empty flat than one plagued with sickeningly bright pink things at every turn. She'd stagnated without even realizing it, and this terrified her more than any of the unsavory neighbors she anticipated running into.

A few months into her new life, Rose had developed a profound appreciation for the term clean slate. She'd never lost sight of who she was, even when she seemed to slip into the background behind her mum and Mickey. Her problem was working out what she wanted from life. For the moment, working long hours at dead end jobs was just fine, because the mindless work gave her the time she needed to figure this out. Having to pay rent meant she actually needed to be the grown woman she hadn't previously felt like while sitting on Mickey's couch watching football matches. Most might say that she'd been freed, like a bird. But Rose felt more like a kite. She was still tethered, but now she could see so much higher than before. And now that she had this new perspective, her life suddenly seemed to be lacking. She needed a longer tether, and a horizon to reach.

The three rambunctious boys playing footie right over her head (though most days it felt like they were stomping right _on_ her head) were enough to cut those kite strings on most days. Noises like parties, arguing couples (her new downstairs neighbors were getting a divorce, she was convinced), and band practices had been as much a part of estate life as the paper thin walls that allowed her to hear them. She might have had the vain hope that they wouldn't follow her to her new flat. But on some days, indoor footie practice was easily drowned out by Rose's exhaustion following a 14 hour work day. This day just so happened to be a quiet one, however. Even the children across the hall were nearly silent. It was the perfect day for her to be so tired that she couldn't bother to drag herself off the ratty old couch she inherited that would surely give her sores in the morning.

At first Rose thought she might have imagined the loud bang that roused her from her sleep so roughly that she crashed onto the floor. When she disentangled herself from the twisted wrap of blanket, hoodie and trousers she found herself trapped in, a prickling on the nape of her neck and a flood of gooseflesh to her arms urged her to at least _check_. The street lamps in front of her building were just for decoration, since the council couldn't be bothered to replace their bulbs. A glance outside the window could only tell her that there was a vaguely person-shaped thing on the sidewalk, and a dark van rushing away from the spot.

Rose thought about making a dramatic production of racing down the three flights of stairs. But she couldn't be certain of exactly _what_ she'd seen or heard. She didn't meander down there either, however. Once she reached the sidewalk she was glad for this, and did break into a run, because that vaguely person-shaped thing she'd seen moments ago was now on the ground. Her legs were several paces behind her mind, so much that she nearly tripped over her own feet as she barreled up to the curb.

It wasn't until after Rose had knelt down before the fallen stranger that she began to even minutely recognize her. She lived on the first floor, as near as Rose could tell. She'd only seen her once or twice in passing. She'd given her the customary wave and a nod, but had never spoken to her. But it was difficult to forget the face of the only elderly neighbor she had that she knew of. It would certainly be next to impossible to forget her face now, as she stared up at Rose, pale eyes boring into hers, almost as if she could see right through her. That was what she remembered the most in the end, those eyes. Even in the oppressive darkness of the dingy street corner in front of her apartment building Rose could map this woman's eyes behind their fierce gaze. Rose only had a brief time to reflect on how odd it seemed that there was no fear or pain in them.

The woman may as well have been a marionette in Rose's arm curled around her back, waiting for her to help her up simply by tugging at a couple strings. For a moment or two, Rose just cradled the lady in her arms, with the subconscious hope that if she held her tightly enough the wound soaking her cardigan with a deep crimson stain would simply disappear. Rose freed a hand when her brain finally connected with what was going on, and her frantic fingers fumbled with her mobile. Never in her life had pressing the same bloody key three times seemed so difficult. At least she could praise herself for remembering to _actually dial_ 999.

“I've got you, it's alright,” Rose soothed after she hung up the mobile. In her attempts at stuffing it back in her trousers pocket it crashed to the pavement with a loud crack. “Help's on its way.”

Rose gulped down a yelp when the woman's hand clamped down on her arm. As her fingers became a painful vice, her mouth opened to groan. But no words would come.

“It's alright, ma'am. Save your strength.”

The woman's grip on her arm loosened, but the determination in her gaze that continued to capture Rose's didn't falter in the slightest. Rose chalked this up to some degree of delirium even as she felt her arm and legs becoming damper with each passing second. That this woman still possessed any faculties should have been some sort of miracle.

“They,” the woman groaned.

“Shh,” Rose soothed. “I'm here with you. We're more worried about you right now. Stay with me, okay?”

Rose could never have imagined that she might find herself in a life or death situation like this one. But if she did, she might have thought that holding this perfect stranger and the feeling like her life was in Rose's hands would be one of the longest moments of her life. She might have imagined feeling this woman's heart weakening with every beat, or hearing every struggle to swallow even the shallowest breath. In truth, the sirens heralding the arrival of the ambulance came in what seemed like the blink of an eye. The world was just a bit more vicious as the paramedics plucked this perfect stranger – a woman whose name Rose didn't even know – from the safety of her arms. She longed for that vice grip instantly, because at least then she had still been alive. Her heart had still been beating then. As the paramedics made a futile attempt at returning it to this state, Rose looked down at her watch. The time between Rose looking out her window to the moment that her neighbor was pronounced dead spanned less than ten minutes. And that was all it took, no more than a few blinks of an eye, for her life to change.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A grisly murder brings Britain's worst cop to Rose Tyler's doorstep. Can Alec Hardy bring himself to trust Rose enough to share more than just determination to avenge the murder of her neighbor?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the events at Broadchurch won't factor into this AU, any spoilers will relate more to Alec's character.

Alec's mobile read 12:01 when it lit his dark bedroom in a sterile blue light to alert him to a text message. One thought, whether the phone would leave him be for the sake of five more minutes of sleep, flashed in his mind. It was incidental that he'd placed his mobile on his dresser across the room. But it necessitated his getting up to satisfy his curiosity, which then defeated his ache for sleep. His mind had been idle, deprived of the casework that kept it going after he went cold turkey months ago. His body shifted like the hands of an old clock in disrepair. He hissed when the thud of his feet on the floor sent a shock up his spine that roused him almost as well as the coffee he began to crave.

He called the station back as he got dressed. He scowled at the man in the mirror that had to think about the way he liked to tie his tie. He couldn't use his sleep-addled mind as an excuse, because this was a task that he could have previously done blindfolded. The pyjama bottoms that he'd discarded on the bathroom floor reminded him that he'd been sleeping normal hours. And there'd be nothing wrong with this, except that Alec longed for a cause that would see him working all hours. He'd be doing something with his life. He'd be doing good for someone.

That someone turned out to be one elderly woman whose life had been taken on a street corner merely blocks away from his new flat. So the time had come once again to answer the question of why somebody would murder an elderly person. Or at least if the media were to look into the woman's death, that would be the spin they'd put on it, wedged somewhere between an ad for a new vacuum cleaner and a lengthy article about the latest diet craze.

The metropolitan police held no illusions about Alec's past when they hired him as a homicide detective. Alec was lucky enough (or they were unfortunate enough, however you'd like to look at it) to turn up just as the council found itself severely lacking in experienced detectives. Their other choices were all too green to be considered hirable. It didn't matter enough that there was now an ugly dark mark blemishing his years as a respected officer of the law. So long as his face didn't appear in the media and he kept his head hung low the chief superintendent had few issues with hiring him. These were terms that Alec was more than willing to accept.

“When you said that you were moving, Alec, I the last place I ever saw you moving to was London.” Marvin spoke into his glass of wine at dinner earlier that night.

The quaint, one-room steakhouse they met at may have looked intimate, with soft lighting coming mostly from the little lamps on the green clothed tables, all in cushioned leather booths. But it was as noisy as a tube station. Though the buzz coming from all the chatter around the room made certain their conversation was private, it gave Alec a headache, in addition to punctuating Marvin's point quite well.

“There are jobs here,” Alec argued without looking up as he cut into a steak.

“Back home, as well.”

Alec's knife stabbed the plate with an ear-piercing screech. “That's not home any more.”

“And this is? All the people and their noise? That's not you. That's not mentioning how it isn't good for you.”

“Have you looked at them all, though? Nobody pretends here. No sickening, fake bloody smiles, if they even smile at all.” He tore into the bite of red meat and spoke as he chewed, “That's what got me, Marvin. Smile to your face, whispers to your back.”

“Your choice, though.”

Alec glared at his plate and let the weight of his shoulders bring him to a slouch. He gritted his teeth and cracked his knuckles before picking up his fork again. By completely disregarding him in their busy lives, Londoners understood him better than most people where he'd come from. Alec sought more than just anonymity, he yearned for opportunity. And what better place to look for it than in a city that was wealthy with noise, buildings, buses, people, and most importantly: crimes?

He did hate it here, make no mistake about that. He dreaded every minute he had to spend sitting in traffic. It was noisier around his flat at night than it was during the day. Considering what he was paying, his two bedroom apartment was tiny, and felt like it was built using soggy cardboard. He lived on a corner, at least, so he had only one neighbor: the owner of the green grocers next to the coffee shop that he lived above. And speaking of which, he rose with the sun every day, because that's when it opened. The landlord's assurance of quality soundproofing was a complete farce.

His flat's furnishings were kludged together from what his ex could spare and what he'd thankfully put in storage eons ago. So the interior looked like it had been taken right from the 70's, minus the shag carpeting. Everything else came from IKEA, completing the flat's poor university student look. His couch even had a mystery hole in its brown and mustard plaid upholstery. And the sharp corners of his LACK coffee table were out to get him from day one. (They'd succeeded on several occasions already).

It wasn't anything to write home about, no. And Alec certainly wasn't one to believe in such dribble as a fresh start. His fresh start came when he'd gotten his first job as a detective inspector. He might have once said it happened when he got married, but like the lack of soundproofing beneath his flat's floors, it was a farce. The only good thing that came of it was his daughter. No, a fresh start to Alec was akin to reaching a plateau at the top of a hill. He wanted to climb that hill, but not to gain a fresh start. He sought to prove that he could.

“So you got a job then?” Marvin prompted. “Would I approve?” Evidently silence was an answer in and of itself. “You know we've talked about this. You'll kill yourself. You call me out here to talk about test results, only to tell me you're doing exactly what I told you not to? Stubborn arse, you are.”

If he could call Marvin a friend, he'd be the only one that Alec could trust at this point. A marriage had him sharing all of his friends with his wife, Tess. And none of them knew the truth of what really sank the Sandbrook case, the case that had earned him the infamous title of “Britain's Worst Cop.” Yes, his subsequently failed marriage hurt. But what hurt more was knowing that Alec had misplaced his trust. The one person he knew he could always trust was the one person that he never should have. She'd left vital case evidence in her car to meet up with the man she'd been having an affair with. When that case evidence was then stolen, it wasn't just Alec that Tess had cheated. She'd cheated the family that was relying on them to get justice for their murdered relatives. Marvin made a point of telling Alec that he wouldn't need him in the first place if he'd let Tess take the blame.

“You bloody doctors, think you can intimidate us into submission,” Alec growled.

“Wouldn't have to intimidate you if you'd listen. It's for your own good.”

“You're wrong,” he raised his voice through all the buzz around them as he fished something out of his windbreaker pocket. “This,” he held up his new badge and shook it at Marvin, “This is good for me.”

Marvin had asked on more than one occasion what would have been worse: Alec's daughter Daisy thinking that her father was a horrible fuck up, or that her mother was stepping out on him? It didn't matter that Alec had already made his decision, not to Marvin. It also didn't matter that Alec was lining his pockets with his horrible health. Marvin made it clear to him that he'd made the wrong choice for himself. And when he couldn't convince him for the sake of his health, he asked if Daisy had broken her vow of silence to him yet. The answer was always the same.

One might think Alec resented Marvin a little. He certainly could be compared to a fly buzzing around Alec's ear. Alec didn't feel much less alone when he was with the man, but at least he could be trusted. And he kept him alive. This, for the moment, was important to Alec. He needed to be alive, just for a little bit longer.

“What will that badge do for you that a healthy heart won't?” Marvin quipped.

“It'll give me another chance.”

He'd never had such a short drive to a crime scene. He would have walked, except a small part of him cared to look professional. And there'd be no point in going back home after this. It should have bothered him that this murder had happened practically on his doorstep. But crime was as much a part of his life as paying bills or going to see his doctor. Just another thing that he had to deal with. What did bother him was who ended up being the victim of this particular crime.

She was already on a stretcher waiting outside an ambulance when Alec stepped out of his car. She was wrapped up in the coroner's bag already, but it hadn't been zipped up yet. He could still see her. She was still a person, even if the crime scene techs didn't see her this way. It was their job to break a scene down to its individual parts. And this old woman was just one of them. But she was a person, whoever she was, no matter what state of life she found herself in. She had a face, and it appeared to be a kind one, wrapped up in gentle little lines that told the world she'd lived. She'd had experiences, ones that she'd never get to tell anyone anymore, because somebody had silenced her.

And who would dare do such a thing? Who would kill a kind face? What sort of person would murder the elderly? It might be more appropriate to ask what sort of person would murder _anyone_. However, almost every society has evolved with a small set of common rules. One of them is to protect those that cannot defend themselves. Humans distinguish themselves from wild animals for this reason (among a short list of a few others). Alec Hardy had been tasked with answering the question of who would break this simple rule. He at least knew one thing, that this person had to be a monster. Only a monster, an animal, could do this.

This woman had a name.

“Margaret Mather,” a patrol cop told him. “83 years old,” he added and gestured at a four story apartment building behind him. “Lived on the ground floor over there. Cause of death was a single gunshot to the chest.”

That made her real.

“People apparently called her 'Madge.'”

Did the person who killed her call her that? Did they look into her pale blue eyes, the same color as the sky after a rainy day, as they did it? Did they even know her? That she loved to smile? (He guessed, she had some fairly pronounced crow's feet). That she had terrible arthritis, but wasn't going to let that keep her down? (She smelled of menthol, pain cream). That she had a white dog or cat? (Her black pea coat was covered in pet hair). That she was a bit playful despite her age? (She wore orthopedic shoes, bright green ones). Alec guessed that they didn't. If they did know her, they'd care. If they cared, they wouldn't have killed her in the first place. But they certainly wouldn't have left her out in the open, in the dark, on a seedy street corner.

But at least she wasn't alone.

“That girl over there is our witness.”

“Yes, and she's been waiting here for over an hour! In the bleedin' cold!” A blonde woman in a track suit barked at them. She reminded him of a rottweiler. A blonde rottweiler.

“Who is this?!” Alec turned to the patrol cop and shouted. “Why is she in the middle of my crime scene?” He pressed a hand to the officer's shoulder and gestured to the woman. “Get her out of here!”

“She's the witness's mother, sir.”

Alec pinched his nose and closed his eyes for a minute. He'd forgotten about working with patrol cops, and the sorts of arguments he could have with them. Incompetent fools. Maybe somebody else might argue that he'd been there once. He could safely say that he hadn't. He'd never been so careless.

“Protocols! I don't care who she is, get her off my crime scene!”

He watched the patrol cop wave over one of the other officers with a sigh directed his way before the pair of them practically wrestled with the woman to “escort” her off of the crime scene. She kicked and shouted, but complied at her daughter's gentle urging.

The young woman's face looked familiar. But it was the sort that Alec might have seen every day but not really looked at. Not until now, at least. He guessed that she worked long hours. Her pink hoodie and denims were wrinkled, not from lack of care like him but from going to bed in them. Alec guessed that she spent more money on hair care than she did her wardrobe. He doubted the way that the various shades of caramel blonde locks curtained her face, neck and chest in wispy curls was completely natural. The faded layers of foundation and concealer that she must have put on ages ago that morning revealed bags under her eyes that were framed with gobs of black mascara. It wasn't just to cover up how tired she looked, he surmised, if she laid it on that thick.

They'd given her a blanket for the shock as per protocol, but it was draped over her shoulders like a shawl. Her hands were busy weighing down her bobbing knees. Despite her anxious energy, she didn't look the least bit uncomfortable. She even sat up straight. It appeared as though she might have forgotten entirely about being soaked in the dead woman's blood. And the way that she looked on at the coroner's bag like it contained a friend of hers made him think this had little to do with shock. And maybe she was a friend. At least Madge hadn't been alone when she died. He could be so lucky.

One thing did bother him about the girl. Well, two things, maybe. Her attire and makeup spoke of a woman hiding behind herself. And yet some sort of self assurance ebbed off her skin like sweat did most others. She was a female, so perhaps this could be considered normal. Not that he knew what normal for females was anymore, maybe not even to begin with. But the more he looked into those chestnut eyes of hers, wrought with compassion for the kind old woman, the more it bothered him that she hid them behind so much makeup.

“My name is Detective Inspector Alec Hardy,” he approached her and announced with a stiff outstretched arm.

Her face softened and gently dimpled cheeks flushed as she offered him a smile. It didn't carry the wrinkled brow that a forced smile would. And yet there was the niggling worry that he was completely wrong about her, that she was playing them all for fools, even when her voice fell on his ears like a warm breeze.

“My name's Rose. Rose Tyler.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A grisly murder brings Britain's worst cop to Rose Tyler's doorstep. Can Alec Hardy bring himself to trust Rose enough to share more than just determination to avenge the murder of her neighbor?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the events at Broadchurch won't factor into this AU, any spoilers will relate more to Alec's character.

Rose pictured the detective inspector planted on a shore, standing stone still even before the crest of a wave threatened to engulf him. She didn't believe in the term expressionless. There were too many muscles in a face. It's just that most of the DI's were fixed to a frown, as if invisible pins were tugging down at the corners of his lips. She wondered what weighed so heavily on his brow? It couldn't be his casework, Rose concluded as she watched him look over the old woman for a third time to study her. His eyes made slow, measured movements like birds of prey hunting. Patient, but quick. Waiting to dive. She rather liked this image of him as a bird, maybe an owl with a temper. Only in place of feathers he had an untamed lawn of scruff beneath a freckled nose for the beak. The only aspect of his appearance that took away from his gruff exterior was his hair, falling in front of his face in feathery wisps that Rose just knew her mum would be itching to get a hold of.

He was single. That much was easy to work out, even without looking at his left hand. Rose figured that any woman this man might find himself with would be of the meddlesome variety. She would make him wear at least one color, even if it would be a cloudy blue. She wondered if he'd ever had someone. He could easily be a tumbleweed dressed in a dreary windbreaker, drifting on by, nobody to hold him down. Except he had that same glint in his eyes that her mum did when she let herself talk about Rose's dad. It wouldn't do to just assume that he was missing somebody. But Rose trusted her instincts enough to think that something was weighing on his shoulders.

“Tell me again, you were inside, Miss Tyler?” the DI drilled, for the third time.

“Yeah. As I said, I was sleeping in my flat when I heard a bang. Sounded like it was coming from outside,” Rose repeated after closing her eyes in a sigh to gather up some patience. “So I ran outside to see what it was.”

They told Rose that the woman's name was Madge. Well, they called her Margaret, her given name. But the neighbors who'd been living there quite a bit longer than Rose evidently knew her as Madge. She even had a sweet name. Rose had only known her for but a few short moments, but felt as though she knew her. Some sort of kinship should have been conferred upon her simply for being there, no matter how much she knew Madge. She had to have been tough. Not that there was anything wrong with the name Maggie, but Rose figured that she'd earned the name Madge for a reason. Though she was old, Rose could still imagine her as a kid, pommeling a boy for messing with one of her friends.

“Tell me first about what you saw when you said you looked out the window,” the DI looked up from his pad of paper glaring at her. He was sizing her up, deciding whether she was telling the truth. At least she hoped.

“Not much. I saw someone, Madge I guess, standing on the street corner over there,” Rose answered, nodding at the spot where the ambulance had parked. “And a van rushing away. Could have been a coincidence, I dunno. That's all I saw. And really, it was just barely. How am I supposed to feel safe at night when these lights are all broken? After all this?” She complained.

Not that Rose was scared. She didn't complete school, but her education on the Estate was more than sufficient. She could defend herself when she needed to. But what about Madge? What did she have? She couldn't run. Even on a dark street corner she was still exposed, so there was no place to hide. Maybe if she had a cane she could beat somebody down with it. But she shouldn't have to. The more Rose thought about it, the angrier she became. Her neighborhood seemed that much darker not knowing what sort of lowlifes were lurking around corners waiting for innocent passersby to prey on.

Yet when she closed her eyes, Rose could see _hers_ reflecting back at her. They didn't dart around in fear, didn't widen in a plea for one more breath. They stared, urgently, just as Madge's fingers dug into her flesh, like they could sink right through. That sinking feeling in her chest told Rose that it wasn't the sight of Madge that would keep her up at night. It was those eyes, brave and insistent. They served as a reminder that she'd tried to tell her something. The police could do what they needed to. Rose wanted to find out what Madge had intended to tell her.

He never answered her question. “And then you ran down to investigate,” he led on. And he couldn't even be bothered to raise his inflection for a question. His voice lay flat, like a sheet of paper floating down a rain gutter. “And then?”

Rose curled her toes in her shoes. Is this how he'd speak to everyone? He was investigating the murder of her neighbor in the same fashion that her customers would order coffee. The person between the customer and the coffee was nothing more than a talking, dressed up delivery system. Even then the talking wasn't necessary. An attitude of “give me what I need, quick as you can,” coated their voices, their very skin as they shifted impatiently in queue. It wasn't much different with the DI. She was the delivery system for the information he needed. Nothing more.

“Didn't see anything but Madge once I got outside,” Rose repeated the next bit of her story dutifully, chewing on her bottom lip as she tugged her police issue blanket closer to her chest. “She was lying on the ground, still.” He remained silent and nodded for her to continue. “Still breathing and all, but she was pale – ”

“You mentioned she tried to speak to you while waiting for the paramedics.”

“She only got out one word. I stopped her from speaking hoping it might save her strength.”

“Should have listened,” the DI pulled his face out of his notepad long enough to reprimand her, but in that same sterile tone as before.

He had a way of making her grimace that left a sour note in her mouth. Rose clawed the wool of the blanket she'd been holding, as if her ripping it would free her from the grasp of his callousness. Maybe he didn't mean to be this way. Could he be eager? Tired? Rose searched his steady eyes for any clues. Maybe it was the gleam of the police lights behind her shining a blue light into them, but he was impossible to read.

“I was trying to help her stay alive!” Rose bit back. “Thought that might be more useful to you in the end. I don't feel like much help at all. Like I said, I didn't see much. What can I tell you?” She threw her blanket off and stood up from her perch on a patrol car.

Her eyes became trained on his fingers and their path from his nose to threading through his floppy tresses. They weren't as mechanical as she might have expected. His brows even softened as his eyes opened to look at her properly, as though his fingers were able to fix his expression at will. It gave her just a sliver of hope that if he had to speak to Madge's family that at least he could be civil. It was late. Rose wondered if maybe the DI was like her and more civil when the sun was still shining. There was a reason she took day shifts, after all.

“You did well,” he offered.

“It doesn't feel like it when she died after all.” She might have scowled at him, she couldn't be certain, couldn't be bothered to censor herself or her expressions.

“It couldn't be helped.” There was little value in these words that he might have already spoken to dozens of people before. It was not much more than the programmed “thank you” she'd get for delivering his order of coffee (or information, as in this case). The cheap inflection in his tone was no different.

“It could, you don't know that. Maybe if I'd moved faster, acted quicker. I could have helped her.”

“You're helping her now,” he insisted. And maybe this was just a bit more sincere. But with his detective's mask on, she couldn't be certain what the motive was behind the words.

He probably meant well, had done his job as a decent human being. But really, was she helping? What good would it do, delivering her account? Rose didn't know anything that forensics couldn't tell them, at least nothing pertinent. The one fact that made Rose an asset of any sort was seeing a van drive past Madge after she'd been shot. In the end that could mean anything. If it wasn't the murderer, it was someone who was deaf, blind, or inhumane driving past. If they couldn't find the van (and really, there were thousands of dark vans in London), it wouldn't matter in the end anyway, would it?

The DI drilled her once more before asking her a series of what she guessed were standard questions. Could anyone vouch for her? Where did she work? Did she know the victim? How long had she been living in her flat? Had she seen anything suspicious around her flat lately? Rose answered question after question with as much grace as she could muster. Her adrenaline was wearing thin, and her body could only take so much nerve-wracking excitement before it wanted to crash. And as Rose stood on wobbly legs, mumbling her answers to the DI's questions, she felt herself quickly approaching that crash.

He may as well have sung the words, “That's all we need, Miss Tyler. We'll contact you when we need you.” Rose imagined a savvy detective offering her his card with a flick of his wrist. But the DI fished through his wrinkled windbreaker pockets before finding his to deposit into her palm. “And if you think of anything else- ”

“I'll ring you,” Rose finished, clutching the whitewash slip of cardstock tightly.

It could have easily been a promise. Did most witnesses just sit at home or go back to work and twiddle their thumbs, waiting to be called to court? That was a load of rubbish if she'd ever seen one. When the crime scene crew, police officers and medical personnel all cleared out they'd still be leaving a crime scene. That wouldn't change, even after cleaning up the blood staining the cement on the curb. Madge had still uttered her last words here. She still had a message to convey, no matter that she hadn't managed to tell it. Some coward had still gunned her down and run off. Was the DI going to be working this case alone? Was he alone going to be tasked with answering the question of what threat Madge could have possibly posed to this coward? Right now Madge had her own cavalry (wouldn't it have been great if they'd been there _before_ she died). But they'd clear out, leaving the DI to piece the puzzle together himself. And Rose would be expected to go on about her life, waiting for his call for additional questions or to remind her to appear in court. Sitting, waiting, wondering. Not bloody likely.

For now, Rose settled for getting a bit of rest as the DI and her mum were urging. Did she look that knackered? When she moved into her bathroom to shower she looked at herself in the mirror. A sickly pale ghost with bags under her eyes in a police issue sweatshirt stared back at her. Her clothes had been entered into evidence, her favorite hoodie lost to the cause. She could do without the denims. She'd worn their hems and a hole was beginning to wear in the knee. She'd fared pretty well for a while. Her primary concern had been doing what she could for Madge. But the DI managed to break through her carefully laid defenses with his barrage of questions.

Rose fell limp under the cascade of nearly scalding hot water. It could have easily been a geyser, the way each bead felt like it pierced her skin until it was as pink as a ripe strawberry. Washing away the grime was a simple task. Clearing herself of the sinking pit of feeling someone die in her arms wasn't as easy. She wasn't scared, not rocked to the core as her chatty mum outside her bathroom door would have her believing. She felt as angry as her scalp felt raw from scrubbing. She knew nothing. No rights had been conferred upon her simply because she'd been there. She was as much in the dark as her disused bedroom that night. What if Madge had an entire family that didn't know she'd passed away yet? Then was she even allowed to feel a bit alone as she slipped into bed (though her mum was still there, doing her best to soothe her)? Was it fair that sleep was illusive when she didn't even know if Madge was resting peacefully? Was it odd that this woman whom she never properly met was ruling her thoughts?

She woke up in the morning feeling as though she'd gotten into a wrestling match with her mattress and sheets. She couldn't be certain who won in the end, but it probably wasn't her when she felt like a walking bag of bones. Her body went into autopilot. The work uniform put itself on, a similar story for her makeup. Her mum made her breakfast, the most help she'd been since last night, else Rose might have slipped out the door without eating.

She wanted to pass by Madge's flat and find her popping out to give her another smile. She had to pass by it on her way out of the building, and she was dreading it, letting a sour pit sink into her stomach just thinking about it as she hobbled down flights of stairs. She found the door to be open, however. Her better judgment told her to keep walking, to mind her own business. Her gut argued that the murderer could be in there trying to clean up his mess. Hesitation planted her feet to the ground while adrenaline began to wash over her, trembling her hands and knees, wanting her to cross that quiet threshold. Like a moth to the flame, she gave in and stepped inside.

It was him. And he was alone.

He could have been a completely different man from the one she'd met last night. She knew better, of course. There'd be no mistaking that beard and bright auburn brown mop of hair. He crept about Madge's little flat like his feet were falling on a thin pane of glass. His gloved hands barely touched anything. But when they did, his fingers swept across as if they were touching butterfly wings. Rose might not have been an expert, but it appeared as though Madge's flat had been untouched. It probably wouldn't tell the DI much about the murder. But as he picked up an old black and white photo to study it, Rose realized that's not what he was here for. There was no clear path for his exploration. He wandered, let Madge's eclectic collection of kitschy belongings be his guide. He wanted to get to know this woman through her things, Rose realized.

“You're not supposed to be here,” he told her without looking up from the photo or turning around.

Rose squeaked, but relaxed her shoulders as he turned around. His tone was calm, not admonishing as much as it was an observation, she guessed. “Are _you_ , though?” she countered.

“I have police business.”

Rose stepped up to the DI, not at all cautious or measured as he'd been in shuffling her sneakers across the carpet. “What have you learned?” Rose asked as she leaned over his shoulder to peer at the photograph with him.

He wore just a bit of cologne, though its scent was quickly fading. It was crisp but soft, much like the drab tie he was wearing. But the cool aroma suited him. He didn't seem at all fazed by her intrusion into his personal space. In fact, if he wasn't speaking to her she might think he was ignoring her.

He set the photo down and moved on to pick up another old one. “You realize this is an open police investigation? I don't strictly have to tell you anything. You shouldn't even be in here,” he told her in that same calm voice, still without meeting her gaze as he studied the second photo.

“I held her in my arms as she died. I want to know what happened to her,” Rose demanded, her arms practically folding themselves across her chest.

“As do I,” he replied as he swept his thumb over this photo. “And it's my job to work that out.”

“Will you though?” Rose asked, plucking the photo from his hands as he made to set it down so she could look at it properly. It was of Madge. It had to be. She was grinning from ear to ear, wearing a simple white lace sun dress, holding a man's hand. She didn't look any older than Rose.

He looked at her finally then. It wasn't the cold fish eyes he'd given her last night that she saw when she looked up to meet his gaze. They weren't lost or alone. And maybe his brow did weigh heavily on them. But they looked straight at her, the perfect contradiction of a hint of softness for compassion and toughness with conviction.

“I will. That much I promise you, Miss Tyler. I _will_ find the person responsible for Margaret Mather's death,” he spoke up this time. His Scottish brogue was gravelly, carrying the fatigue of someone who'd been up all night. But as he took a couple steps up to her to tell her this, looking her square in the eyes, he was determined. Tired or not, with the morning sun sneaking in through Madge's blinds and setting his scruffy freckled face aglow, Rose decided that all that determination looked good on him. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A grisly murder brings Britain's worst cop to Rose Tyler's doorstep. Can Alec Hardy bring himself to trust Rose enough to share more than just determination to avenge the murder of her neighbor?

One might say that there's no place to hide in London, a city bursting at the seams with people and activity. But just as the best way to deal with horrible people is to kill them with kindness, some of the best places to hide are in plain sight. So when Alec's coworkers teased him about being saddled with Madge's case while they landed the high profile slaying of a newlywed couple, he wanted to smack some sense into them. He opted for a more polite approach (well, they might not have seen it as polite while he was barking in their faces), reminding them that every person mattered. Every case mattered. When they didn't see his reasoning he ignored them and their continued boisterousness. They may as well have still been in school, the young idiots. Finally, Alec had enough, and decided to take his work away from the desk.

There was no privacy in a coffee shop. Entire herds of caffeine addicts filed into tiny a tiny little hole in the wall to get their fix. And most of them filed right back out. Some stayed, sequestering themselves at wobbly old tables to drink their coffee and eat their pastry within five minutes so they could take up the space for at least another hour after. Alec was one such patron, and wondered what the point was of putting more than one chair at a table. He'd never ventured into a coffee shop and found groups of people sitting at a table with their coffee, at least not for more than a few minutes. And there was a certain amount of skill involved with being completely uninteresting and off-putting so that people will leave you alone in a coffee shop. Alec was a master in this skill, a black belt in the delicate art form.

He needed the less antiseptic surroundings of a cafe, with its calming brick walls and whispered conversations. The smoky, roasted aroma of coffee beans kept his mind alert long after he finished his second cup of coffee. For brief little moments, a flicker of the candle on his table, he could forget about Madge's case weighing on his hunched shoulders. Her case was much like the plates of pastries on other patrons' tables (since he hadn't even touched his). Alec couldn't scarcely tell what these people had ordered, other than that it was a pastry of some sort. All that was left on each little saucer were crumbs. And they wouldn't lead him anywhere. That's what he knew of Madge, crumbs.

The worst of it, he found after studying her autopsy report for the umpteenth time, was that save for her arthritis, the late Mrs. Mather was astoundingly healthy for a woman of her advanced age. She ate well and exercised. Her doctors must have adored her. After all of this, however, the autopsy did not tell Alec anything about the murder that he didn't already know. She died of a gunshot wound from a pistol that he could only dream of finding. And if he ever did, even it probably wouldn't yield him any useful information. Alec poured over what he'd gathered from the case thus far, spreading it out on the greasy little cafe table. Though each sheet was filled to the brim with information, none of it could be deemed relevant or helpful. Still, he looked over everything at least a dozen times, hoping that a new piece of information might materialize under his empty coffee cup.

It wouldn't change the fact that Madge had been all alone. Alec went as far back as government records would allow. Madge was a widow. She had an older brother, long since past. That was all he could gather. And he refused to believe that was the complete story. Somebody had to want to claim her. Somebody would, if he had anything to do with it. He owed it to the smiling young woman in her wedding dress that he'd pinned to the inside of Madge's file. She wouldn't be the first case he'd gotten who appeared to be all alone. But she was the first that made him feel gutted, like beneath his skin and bones was nothing but overpriced coffee and gray, dysfunctional tissue. She had so much more than he did, and she was all alone. It seemed wrong. Of course, Madge had done nothing to gain her solitude. It was thrust upon her, while he'd spread it over himself like a thin, soul-sucking blanket.

It was only the first week in and Alec already felt the weight of doubt dragging him into the depths of disappointment. Like a wee child he foolishly planned to redeem himself by proving to all and sundry just how capable he was by solving this murder overnight. Now, the less he knew, the more his head ached, reminding him how useless he was being sitting on his arse in a cafe. He could only pace the crime scene and the victim's flat so many times before he became dizzy with redundancy and hungry for any scrap of new information.

“All right?” someone chirped in his ear.

Alec looked up from digging his fingers into his scalp and temples to see his witness sitting across from him, ducking her head in an attempt to make eye contact with him. He groaned, rubbed the frustration from his eyes, and sighed. That was a broad question. He might have asked her to define “all right.” Healthy? Scratch that one right away. In a good mood? It may as well have been a foreign concept. Not passed out on the floor? That would suffice.

“Yeah,” he grunted.

He was well aware that Miss Tyler worked at the coffee shop beneath his flat. Statistically, it was unlikely she worked at any other coffee shop, he told himself after learning about her other job. She trekked across the city for one job. She'd have to be crazy to want to travel very far for the other. It hadn't been very long since his move, but he'd still visited the shop plenty of times. How many times had Miss Tyler made his coffee and presented it to him with that honeyed smile of hers? Of course, she gave everyone the same exact smile. She even fed several patrons winks and giggles, shamelessly tricking males of all ages into adding pastries and tips to their orders each morning.

It's not as though he'd been watching her for damn near an hour. He'd been working on his case. He certainly didn't stare at her smoothing her apron over her almost inappropriately short skirt as she rushed around behind the counter. He couldn't even use the excuse that he didn't have anything to do while waiting for his coffee to arrive, not with Madge's case file right under his nose. And he was looking at it, his entire attention span focused on it. But there was no turning off that urge to be aware of his surroundings.

Well, and then there was also observing the only witness to Mrs. Mather's murder. That's what he told himself, at least. His gut was telling him that she was perfectly innocent as she tucked her golden wisps that escaped her bun behind her ear. It told him she was an average young woman that had the patience of a saint when an older man chewed her out for getting his drink wrong. Only a little tug behind her lips and a quirk of her eyelids gave away any hint of impatience. But his gut had been wrong before. If his instincts could be wrong about someone closest to him, it could certainly be off about a young woman that he scarcely even knew.

“Any updates on the case?” Miss Tyler prodded as he fumbled with tucking the case file back into its manilla folder.

He'd chew himself out for having it out in the open later. That's what the new kids do, he told himself. “Can't discuss an open case,” he grunted as his fingers skittered across the table for one of his empty coffee cups, placating the urge to ground themselves to its cool porcelain.

She puffed her bangs from her face and shook off his disapproval. “So you're working it all alone then? You'll run yourself ragged doing that.”

“Who says I'm working alone,” he mumbled into the table while reading into the little grains of the manilla folder.

“Figured I'd have met your partner by now if you had one, don't you think?” she reasoned. His reply was little more than a shrug. “How are you supposed to work this case by yourself?”

Alec folded his eyebrows over his eyes and memorized the wood grain patterns on the table, for lack of a good answer to the girl's reasonable question. He might have replied with, “how can I work this case with anyone else,” if that statement didn't open up a can of worms. She didn't need to know. She probably wouldn't _care_ to know. And yet there she was, twirling blonde wisps in her fingers and bobbing her knee, her gaze flitting over him. Except she wasn't a little butterfly, nor a delicate flower as her name implied. He could gather this much. The puzzle that remained was whether her honeyed voice and sugary smiles were meant to ensnare unsuspecting victims or to keep them away.

“I'm very capable,” he replied when she began to tug at his case file after he didn't immediately respond. He rested his palm on the file and held it in place.

“That doesn't make it ideal. Look, Alec -”

“Don't call me that. I don't like Alec.”

Miss Tyler caught his attention this time. He looked up to offer her the grimace he saved just for the mere mention of his name. He'd have loved to say that the preference was one he grew up with. He might have even told new acquaintances as much. The truth of the matter was far pettier, and a bit childish. _She_ loved to call him Alec, mentioned on a daily basis how much she loved the name and that it suited him. And she'd be the only person in his life that felt so strongly about it after his own mother. It sounded sour to the ear now, particularly when he wondered how many other men she flattered with the same sentiment. It was such a bitter thought that he indulged himself with.

Miss Tyler couldn't be fazed, and shook her head with that same sweet smile she suckered everyone else with. “Not very nice to your mum and dad, that.”

“Supposing you like yours,” he muttered when his trademark awkward silence didn't chase her away.

“I do. I love my name.” The words came with a smile that drifted her attention away, off to distant memories by all appearances. “My dad gave it to me.”

Alec leaned over his chair and fished his notebook and pen out of his windbreaker pocket draped over it. “He wasn't with your mother at the crime scene.”

The young woman began chewing on her bottom lip and entangled her instantly anxious fingers. “You can put that away. I don't think it'll help your case much. My dad's gone. Passed away.”

He leapt after this bit of information without any further consideration. “How did he die? When was this?”

Her hands moved from twisting around one another like snakes to hugging her arm. “When I was a baby. He was hit by a car on his way to a friend's wedding.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.”

He wouldn't fault her for thinking he was the most callous man this side of the English channel. He certainly would award himself that medal. He didn't need to hone that skill when he came by it so naturally, when it snaked past his lips and oozed off his prickly skin.

“At least Madge wasn't alone when she died,” she spoke into the table. “My dad had nobody.”

“I'm sorry,” he parroted. He sorted through his mental file for anything better to pull out than the typical apology in this case. He ought to know something better, but nothing came forth. Would the truth be any better to hear? “She has no relatives to speak of, nobody to claim her.”

It slipped past his lips quicker than his coffee-anxious mind could process. Here he was, bemused by all of the men that this woman had tricked with her dimpled cheeks and wide grins, when he himself fell into the same trap. There was no making heads or tails of Rose Tyler. Even still, as he witnessed her absorb this information with a frown and a sigh tugging at her mouth, he recited clearly in his mind the protocols of working on a case. Not everyone followed them, but he wouldn't ever be accused of breaking away, not ever. He'd planned to be careful. Look how quickly that plan fell by the wayside.

“That can't be true,” Miss Tyler pleaded. She really felt for this woman. If she was still feeling exposed for his callousness, it didn't show.

“It is.”

She threw her head back and scowled at him. “I refuse to accept that. You saw those pictures. She was _loved_! People who are loved don't die alone with nobody to bring flowers to their resting places. You're doing it wrong.”

Alec sat back and folded his arms. Not that he was offended. Not by a spicy young woman. “I know exactly what I'm doing, thank you,” he chuffed at her.

“If you did you'd know already that she was out walking her dog that night, that the dog is missing,” Miss Tyler threw at him. This time when she chewed on her lip it was to bite back a little smile as she glared at him with hooded eyes. To a man that felt constantly numb, her mercurial mood shifts struck a chord.

He didn't have to admit that she brought up a good point. Not aloud, at least. “I don't care about the dog. It'll be impossible to track down at this point. Chances of yielding any useful information are even slimmer.”

Their eyes were bound to meet when he found himself studying her. Alec could have easily been back in Madge's little flat, standing in front of that brazen young woman with the wide doe eyes boring right into him. Here they were again, warm as tea but burning with a fiery passion. He wanted to believe that this was the real Rose, regardless of how he felt about her (no verdict on that yet, alas). That was as good a time as ever to really let her name sink in. And maybe he might just find out that it was quite appropriate. The old adage “every rose has its thorns,” played in his mind. Just what kind of thorns were they, he wondered?

“I'll keep looking,” he offered her searching eyes. It was as though she plucked the words right from his subconscious. And her fingers creeping across the table towards his were an added incentive. He yanked his hand away to rake his fingers through his messy lawn of hair.

Though he escaped her grasp, her soft gaze had a hold on him, even long after he left the coffee shop that day. He imagined those soft brown eyes every time he tossed and turned in bed that night. For once it wasn't a case that was keeping him up. The idea that Rose wouldn't be alone when she past haunted him. People would flock to mourn over her grave. It would never be without bouquets of bright roses, he concluded. Somebody would be with her when she died, he was convinced of this. And though he thought Madge was a tough old goat, Alec had a sneaking suspicion that Rose was even tougher. She'd beat a man into the ground before she'd let him hurt her. She would live to a ripe old age. He'd wager that she was just that lucky. She just looked absurdly lucky. But of course, everyone felt luckier than him. Even Madge. At least she had her health.

But she should have had so much more. Maybe Rose was on to something. Everyone ought to have someone. Rose's refusal to accept that Madge's kind old face was all alone spurred his own determination. It was all he had at the moment. He might never find the woman's killer. But he could someone that would remember her for who she was, someone to keep her in their thoughts that wasn't being paid to do so. Of course, Rose wasn't being paid, yet she cared enough anyway. He wasn't about to let some mysterious young woman show him up, he decided just before grabbing hold of a few moments of peaceful slumber that night. Alec didn't need to prove to anyone other than himself that he could work this case alone. But the extra incentive was welcome, if he'd ever admit to as much. 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies everyone for taking so long to update this fic! I'm hoping more updates will arrive much quicker.
> 
> There will be slight spoilers to season one of Broadchurch in this. Note though that any spoilers will relate more to Alec’s character than the events in Broadchurch.

 

 

There was a pep in Rose's steps to the cafe the following few days. She even picked up an extra shift or two. But it wasn't a zest for her work that had her rushing on already sore legs to get there. It was a miserable job, really. The customers often made a sport of being rude; and running around serving coffee, tea and pastries was more exhausting than it ought to be. She went to work at the cafe each day with the meager hope of seeing the detective there again. It was her understanding that witnesses to a crime didn't normally have access to the progress of the investigation. And when Alec (because she refused to call him by his last name, that was ridiculous) made himself so readily available the one time, Rose held the vain hope that he might show up again. He hadn't yet. But then most people didn't make a habit of visiting a coffee shop every day. She'd be broke.

Being honest, as abrasive as he was, Alec had brought a warmth to the shop that day that Rose missed in his absence. He distanced himself, shifting away from her in such a subtle way that she almost didn't notice. He was tactless, and his brow seemed to be permanently fixed to a sort of dull scowl. Yet it was difficult to discount how his calm, measured breaths as they spoke brought an air of peace to the table. Rose couldn't be certain she'd ever met a man whose eyes didn't wander as she spoke to him. At first she'd found it a bit unsettling, as though Rose was Alec's prey, and he was merely waiting for the right moment to pounce. It wasn't long before it became a comfort as she was talking to him. Alec would listen, and all the while she could feel his warm coffee eyes settling on her. She'd found him hunched over the table, but when she spoke he sat up and offered her all of his focus. No matter what he said, it had her feeling important.

Without even realizing, Rose found herself reaching out to him. She'd tried not to make heads or tails of what it meant that she'd imagined her hand in his. Yes, his hands were course and spindly, certainly rough around the edges. But his palm that he kept hidden from her would feel baby soft and radiate warmth in her hand. She had no basis for this claim. Alec had a tenderness to his eyes that she only cought a brief glimpse of when she'd mentioned her father. But it was there, for the briefest of moments she felt that gentle energy reaching out to her. She could feel that about anyone, certainly her mum, the woman with the warmest and fiercest heart of anyone she knew. Rose didn't need to be a detective inspector to know that Madge was a warm-hearted soul. She still felt comfortable and safe with Mickey.

She felt the same around Alec, though he never gave her cause to feel that way. He didn't need the badge for it. It made no sense, because his fixed scowl and constant discomfort held up a decent barrier against her. She couldn't fault him for huffing at her and rolling his eyes as though she was a chore. Being a witness in his case more or less made her a chore for him. She probably wasn't his type, Rose concluded. That is, if he even had one. As soon as these thoughts crossed her mind, Rose fell back onto her couch, the volume of the notion having completely knocked the wind out of her. Since when did it matter if she was his type or not when she'd met him a whopping three times? It didn't stop her wondering what Alec's type was, no matter how hard she tried. What was _her_ type? She barely knew more than it was certainly not a schoolboy. Rose barely knew more than this man's and occupation, yet she found him taking up a good deal of real estate in her mind. Her walks to the coffee shop were fueled by her desire to get to know this man better.

And she wouldn't have to wait very long. But she wouldn't find him at the coffee shop, to her slight disappointment. Strictly speaking she wouldn't see him in person at all. But Rose did see him alright.

“The scandal surrounding the Sandbrook case unfolds further this morning as we discover the lead investigator from the case is now a homicide detective right here in London.”

Rose was curled up on her mum's couch nestling a mug of tea in her hands. She had one day off, and her mum had harangued her into spending at least part of it with her. But at least she was getting a free meal out of it. She hadn't expected to get Alec's face plastered all over the news.

“Sandbrook,” Rose parroted in confusion, muttering into her mug. “Mum, d'you know about this Sandbrook case?” she shouted across the flat into the kitchen.

Jackie slipped her head out the archway of the kitchen and peered at the telly screen. “That was the... oh you know Rose. Remember? Those poor girls were murdered by their neighbor. One wasn't far off your age, I think?”

Her mum's last words were what made it click. She'd just broken up with Rodrigo (again) when the Sandbrook case seeped into every corner of the news. And though Rose bore no resemblance to the older victim, her mum still lumped them up together. She became obsessed with the case for at least a week. Come to think of it now, Rose wondered how she could have forgotten the name Sandbrook. She did, however, gather how she didn't make the connection that Sandbrook's Alec and her Alec were the same man.

He could have been a completely different man, with neatly combed hair and a shirt free of wrinkles. There were no bags under his eyes or a sense of dread weighing on his shoulders. He was as stoic as always in the images they flashed back to on the news. But his lips were still curled slightly, and not hidden behind a thick lawn of beard. There was a light in his life, a spark in his eyes still. He was clean, crisp, and every bit professional. He looked like he was bloody good at his job, despite what the media was claiming, that he'd ruined the court's chances of convicting their prime suspect. But there was something off about him. She hadn't taken the time to really let the implications of the news sink in yet. She was still focused on the slightly younger Alec's face. He could have easily been five or ten years younger. He should have been the preferred version: untainted and handsome. Though the detective she'd just met was rough as sandpaper, the one on her telly was sharp in a way that had Rose shifting on the couch. And his partner looked like she could be a suspect herself, despite her sweet smile. Well, everyone else thought it was sweet. As sweet as sour milk, maybe. Something about it didn't sit right with Rose. It didn't seem real.

“I knew there was something off about that man!” her mum crowed with a hand on her hip, waving a spatula at the telly.

Rose hugged her tea mug close and frowned. The footage that the news caught of Alec leaving the police station wasn't at all kind. He didn't block the cameras, but he did storm through the crowd, growling at reporters chasing him to his car. But past that cloud of anger, just as he'd stepped out the door was a twinge of pain of his face, like shock from a sting. They chased after him, swarmed him like a nest of bees and buzzed around him even as he fought to get in his car. And he handled it much better than Rose would have. She imagined her heart pumping, threatening to burst right through her ribs as she ran, tears streaking her face. Nobody should have to develop a hard heart to this, Rose thought.

“It doesn't mean what they're saying is true, mum,” Rose defended. “D'you really think they've got all the facts?”

Her mum plopped down in the armchair next to the couch and wagged the spatula at her as she sighed. “That poor old woman. What was her name?”

“Madge.”

Jackie nodded and sighed heavier. “Poor dear. How's she supposed to get justice now, with that lummox running the case? What if he flubs your testimony, or loses more evidence?”

Rose clawed her mug and closed her eyes, remembering the detective that was carefully examining Madge's flat. She knew he'd combed through everything, had studied her photo with such care. He was just as eager as Rose was to learn everything that he could about her. She took a sip of her tea, but it seeped down her throat cold and bitter when she remembered telling him he'd been doing his job wrong. She hadn't been entirely serious. Was Alec the sort of man to be hurt by that? She replayed the footage of him storming to his car over and over in her mind as her mum cooked up breakfast. For a few brief seconds they showed him leaning back in the seat, digging his head into the seat with the worst sort of grimace on his face as he clutched his chest.

That image stayed with her for days, especially when she attended Madge's wake. Everyone that lived in her building was invited. They'd been shoved into a moldy little room of a dilapidated hotel the next street over. It was an unofficial event, as Madge's body couldn't be released. But the family that lived in the flat next to Madge's felt as Rose did, that the kind old lady should never be forgotten. Rose's other neighbors commented on how their efforts had amounted to nothing more than a wobbly table covered in a few boxes of pastries and tea,with a big printed picture of Madge on it next to a bouquet of flowers. But it was _an effort_ at least, Rose thought. Still...

“D'you know if anyone here is related to Madge? She's got family, right?” Rose asked Madge's next door neighbor, the middle aged woman who'd arranged the wake.

They'd finished saying their peace, which had been not much more than a few people going around the room talking about the few times they'd met the elderly woman. Rose used the remaining time to scope out the room. Nobody knew anything about the kind old lady, not much more than Rose did. Some knew that she bought groceries on Tuesdays, and walked her dog in the middle of the morning when it was warmer. But they didn't know her favorite color, what she liked to eat, her favorite films, certainly nothing about her family. They seemed surprised to learn that Rose figured she'd been married at some point. She was beginning to think that maybe Alec was right about Madge being alone, and she couldn't accept it. It wasn't about proving Alec wrong anymore. She needed to lift the weight that Madge's loneliness dropped on her chest, both for Madge's sake and her own.

“Not really,” the middle aged woman sighed. Ellen? Was that her name? Rose had been so consumed with trying to figure out Madge that she wasn't paying attention to the personal details in conversations that she normally did. “She had a son.” Ellen drew circles on the paper cup in her hands as she hummed in contemplation. “Hm, no. Can't remember his name, sorry dear. Started with an 'M' maybe?”

“Where is he then?” Rose probed, stepping closer as Ellen fidgeted and took a step back.

“I believe what Madge said to me was she had a falling out with him. Couldn't tell you what it was about. But it was maybe...” she paused and brought her cup to her lips for a sip, and finished her sentence mid-sip. “two years ago? I only know because there was a lot of shouting, definitely heard a clatter of some sort too. Poor dear. Her only child, I think she said.”

And there Rose was, back at square one, maybe two if she counted what she'd learned. But in the end Madge still had nobody present to claim her, no family to mourn her. Could she count herself when she'd only known Madge for a minute and a smile? She concluded that no, she couldn't, since she wasn't responsible for her remains. That sentiment brought forth a renewed surge of determination to find this son of Madge's so he would at least know what had happened to his mother. As Rose walked back to her flat that evening she thought about the idea of not knowing anything had happened to her mum. It was dizzying enough to have her stumbling on the pavement once or twice. She'd dialed Alec's number before she finished the ascent to her flat.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

The more nights Alec spent alone, the more he was convinced that sleep was a social construct meant to elude people who chose to do so alone. If not that, perhaps a recreational sport like swimming. He felt as though he was drowning anyway. His subconscious, when he did get sleep, had a knack for punishing his incompetence, flooding what peace he might get with tempestuous thoughts of failing again. By not being vigilant enough, he may as well have yanked the evidence out of _her_ car. He wanted to say loving her was a mistake, that his heart was misplaced. This much he didn't regret. It's never wrong to love. He still loved _her_. He also hated her for breaking his heart and turning her back on him. She taught him that it was possible to love and hate someone at the same time.

Having to run to his car from press again, as if the first time had just been yesterday, rekindled that flame quite efficiently. It couldn't have come at a worse time, right after he'd had to explain to the chief super that he'd made very little progress on Mrs. Mather's case. And by very little, he'd done his best to sugarcoat the fact that he was a few paces past the starting point, while the finish line was miles away. His saving grace was the fact that nobody else could do much better. Nobody else spent their evenings fretting over this spirited elderly woman whose life was cut short. Nobody else was kept up at night by it (among other things).

Except maybe one person.

“Hey. I know it's late. Wow, okay, really late. But I was wondering if you'd meet me at the park later? I've got to work in the morning but the park's on my way to the tube station. You're not answering. Oh, I _did_ wake you up, didn't I? I couldn't sleep so I just picked up the mobile without thinking, really.”

“What time?” Alec groaned without pause.

“Is seven too early?”

“Seven is just fine.”

He was seated on their designated park bench at half past six, watching runners and birds fly past as he sipped his cappuccino. Rose's shift was at Henrik's this morning. She wouldn't need to take the tube to the coffee shop, as it was well within walking distance. And he figured she wouldn't want to meet so early if that's where she was headed anyway. He did learn that Rose made better coffee than her coworkers. This morning's barista put too much milk in his cappuccino. If he didn't know she was headed somewhere he had half a mind to ask her to pop in and make him a proper one. Half a mind. The other half was too preoccupied wondering what Rose wanted to meet for.

“How's your coffee?” Rose mewled as she slid onto the slatted metal bench next to her.

Alec looked down and grimaced at his paper cup after swallowing his tongue a little to get the overpoweringly mild taste out of his mouth. “Don't like it.”

She pursed her lips and smiled behind them. “Sam's behind the counter this morning today. Can't make a coffee or a good cuppa to save his life.”

“So why is he working in a coffee shop?” Alec grumbled while chucking the empty cup into a nearby bin. It made as much sense as him becoming a dance instructor or cake decorator.

“He's a manager. They're a bit short staffed at the moment. I think they might offer me full time finally. Wouldn't pay as much though. Unless I pushed for a raise. D'you think I could get one?”

“If it was based solely on merit I would say yes,” Alec threw in, still parched for a properly made coffee. Really anything at this point. “What did you ask me here for?” he followed quickly. His patience was left with that empty cappuccino, as well as the twisted and kicked bedsheets back in his flat.

Rose's hand leapt up from her lap and found her hair to twirl between her fingers. For someone who likely had someplace to be soon, she looked relaxed, leaning back on the bench while watching a troupe of cyclists wheel past. He'd startled her, she had been so relaxed. She had to be going to work, Alec pondered, despite her very casual hoodie and denims. But being a shop girl, Rose could wear pretty much anything that she already had in her wardrobe, right? Was it appropriate to wear such tight denims? Would customers be more likely to buy a pair if they thought their arses might look as fit as hers in them?

“It's about Madge. And, well, sorry for waking you last night. I couldn't sleep. Didn't really think about you sleeping,” Rose rambled.

“Why weren't you asleep?” One might think he'd latched onto the wrong piece of information. But given how put together Rose had seemed, the fact that she might have a hard time sleeping struck him as odd. He chased after this idea, eager to work out what was going on.

Rose curled her feet around one another and dropped her gaze down to them, forming a curtain of blonde around her face. “I had a nightmare.”

“About Mrs. Mather,” he supplied with a sigh.

She nodded and revealed her fatigue by peeling back her hair and tucking it behind her ear. She began to twirl it between her fingers but curled them into a fist before stuffing her hands in her pockets. He began cataloging her mental state without thought as he followed the paths of her hands. They looked delicate and moved with the grace of a swan. But like swans, he imagined they'd have a bite to them. Still, it reminded him of their time at the coffee shop, almost getting a chance to touch them. They wouldn't stop moving, now wearing a path on her legs back and forth, as if she could dig a furrow in them. Before they'd begun talking about last night she'd been nervous but relaxed. Now she was nervous and anxious. It was no wonder of course. He knew the feeling all too well. Alec just might have expected Rose to be the one to swim instead of sink as he did. Then again she didn't walk among death as he did.

He had no reason at that moment to deny Rose's claims. He also had no reason to blindly follow them. Without further evidence that's essentially what he was doing, blindly following the pretty blonde girl with the soft smile and rock solid determination. Still, he had no reason to believe that determination was seeking anything other than justice for Mrs. Mather. Alec had a whole list of reasons to not trust Rose, particularly in light of the reminder of his failings in Sandbrook. He ignored every one of them. For once he set them all aside for just a few minutes of approaching normalcy with another human being.

Alec shifted to face Rose. “You went through a lot that night. It was a shock, and that's your mind's way of coping with and processing what happened.”

Rose sucked in a deep breath. “I hate it. This is the third one, and I thought if I ignored them they'd go away. They're not really scary, they just keep me up. I think I need to -”

“Talk to someone about it,” he finished.

Alec caught Rose's gaze again right then, and she surprised him. He was readying himself to comfort her and ease her tears away. She could have run a marathon or worked all night, the way her gaze seemed to fall on his. Her eyes were framed in shallow wrinkles that weren't there the last time he saw her. She was stressed. Not scared, but stressed. She should have been scared, terrified even. Every other witness wanted justice from a distance, to steer clear of the strain that came with investigations for fear of its trauma eating away at their peace of mind. Not Rose. She'd been facing it head on with no fears of being knocked down. As weary as she looked, there was still a fierceness in the eyes that met his. Yet they were still soft, framed with a relaxed brow. It was difficult to pull away from.

Before either of them said anything, he glanced down briefly at the ground but let his eyes dart right back up. How long had they been sitting there with his hand on top of hers? How long had she been letting him sweep his thumb along the back of her hand? Their loosely joined hands were on her thigh, so clearly he'd initiated contact, not that he could even remember doing it. When he realized what he'd been doing his thumb froze, but he didn't move his hand.

“I found out from a neighbor that Madge has a son,” Rose murmured.

If it hadn't been for Rose's other hand dropping to his, Alec would have immediately fished out his notebook. But he felt just a bit at ease with her hands there, and stopped to listen to her even breaths. The moment he sat up to fish out his notebook the calm that he was exchanging with Rose would evaporate. Just that tiny bit of peace was worth having to memorize what Rose was telling him.

“Which neighbor? I spoke to the entire building.”

Alec tensed up just a bit, stiffening his back, until Rose wrapped her hands around his and squeezed. Now it was deliberate, the impromptu hand holding. For just a moment he considered the inappropriateness of it and tried to wriggle his hand free. But she robbed him of even more personal space by scooting closer. The crisp scent of new denim along with a mix of flowers and vanilla floated on the soft breeze a thumping breath later. He couldn't help but ease up a little at her touch. Even when Rose herself was tense she still breathed a calm air and soothed the weary veins on the back of his hand.

“I think her name was Ellen? I wasn't paying as much attention. Madge is more important, isn't she?”

He closed his eyes and breathed a deep heavy sigh, ridding himself of all the fresh, crisp air. It made the cappuccino in his stomach churn. There was a slight growl to his voice. “I need her name, so I can go back and verify all this myself. Would have made my job easier. Do you at least have her flat number?”

Rose let her hands slip away, leaving his without their warmth blanketing its parched skin. She'd felt it too, at that precise moment, the wondering what on Earth they were doing. Sharing that bit of peace, free of expectation and stress felt right in the moment. But that moment was riding on the ebb and flow of his patience and judgment, which burst through with a vengeance. And with good reason. He didn't think straight when his guard was down.

“She lives right next door to Madge,” Rose explained. “She arranged the wake. It was like a waiting room for an interview, though. Uncomfortable. A few people showed up for the free food and to be polite, mostly. They've all been living in that building for ages, but nobody actually _knew_ her. Nobody bothered to know her. She seemed so nice. Is that all she was worth, some paper cups and a couple of polite words per person?”

The more she spoke, the quicker her lips fluttered and her chest pumped shallow breaths.

“Why does Madge being alone bother you so much?” he asked, tone as flat as the concrete beneath his feet.

Rose turned back to him and leaned in. He could, if he met her halfway, taste the thin sheen of blush colored lipstick. If she was a wine, she'd be a blush wine, sparkling like her dark golden eyes in the morning sunlight. Maybe it was the addition of the salmon colored jacket, but he thought she'd go perfectly with a blush wine and a rich dessert.

“Doesn't everyone deserve to be remembered, honored and cherished by people who love them? Madge did. She seemed so nice. She had to be a good person, a sweet old lady. But there was nobody there for her. That's wrong,” Rose punched the back of the bench and raised her voice. She'd poured her heart into these thoughts.

“Bad things happen to good people.”

Not that Alec had expected otherwise, but this did little to calm her down. “I don't have to accept that! I don't have to be okay with it! And I'm not. Like how the news treated you, chasing after you and treating you like a villain.”

The weight of that little bomb fell on Alec's shoulders and curtained his eyes shut. If he emptied his mind he could still hear the pounding in his ears, still feel the punishing ache in his chest as his heart fought to slow down his escape. How many people had seen? How many people would remember his face when, _if_ it came time to try Mrs Mather's murderer? How many would even trust him, let alone give him the time of day after seeing him being associated with such gross failure?

“Didn't even have all the facts, I'm sure. That's the last time I'll really trust the news, I'll tell you that. Horrible,” Rose added.

With that, she reached for his hand, this time bringing his other one along with. Fuck his better judgment and professionalism. Alec's chest fluttered in the _good_ way, and his whole body let the grips of tension loosen for just a moment. He gritted his teeth at the thought, but knew he deserved one moment with the detective inspector cap off, a moment not for DI Hardy but just Hardy. He hadn't been touched, not properly and out of genuine kindness, not for months. Politeness and regular visits with Marvin didn't count. Shaking hands, a pat on the shoulder, none of it counted. Relief trickled in. It washed over him so gently, like the first lick of the incoming tide at his bare feet. He still might become engulfed by its harsh waters. But for a little moment he was safe and not alone. He could dwell on how absurd it was and how foolish he might be acting much later.

“What did you learn about the son?” Alec asked, voice low and gravelly.

“Only that she had one, and that Ellen thought they had a falling out about two years ago. She said she heard shouting, and was pretty sure she heard a loud noise like a clatter. Not much if you think about her maybe exaggerating or misremembering.”

Alec might have been inclined to agree. Normally he'd want to pull his hair out with frustration. None of this information could be considered concrete, nor its sources credible. But he had a few breadcrumbs that he could follow. Something. In a heartbeat, he'd take a few breadcrumbs over pouring over what he already had. He could worry about making this credible later.

“Not much, but it gives me something to go on,” Alec assured her with a dull nod.

Rose's hands clenched around his, and she dug her fingernails into his skin like an eagle's talons clutching its kill. “I want to find him. And if he did this...”

“You don't know that he did it. Could be a deadbeat son. Could be dead himself. We don't know. Don't make blind assumptions, or let your feelings cloud your judgment.”

“My judgment doesn't matter. I'm not arresting anybody. I am helping, though. You wouldn't be this far without me.”

He puffed a breath and blinked before he could roll his eyes at her. He was already skating on standard operating practice's thin ice by acting so liberally around a witness – one that could still be considered a suspect. Nowhere did it say he had to admit she was right, even if she was. A few paces from his fingertips were the pulse points on her wrists. Alec would be willing to wager Rose's heart was getting ahead of itself. She peered at him with heavy lidded eyes as if he was prey she was getting ready to make the kill. Rose could be a detective herself. He recognized that glint in her eye, the hunger for the truth and the thrill of the chase. He didn't feel it anymore, but he remembered how exhilarating that rush was.

“Right now that doesn't matter. You have to let me do my job,” Alec asserted, actually making an attempt at gentle.

“You can't stop me from looking for the truth myself. And you know it. I'm not gonna stop. Not gonna let Madge be alone in this. She needs a voice.”

Alec would have felt like a villain for arguing that point. He couldn't, not when the vigor brought a smile of conviction to her face. He could be so lucky to have such a fierce defender that the lonely elderly neighbor of Rose's did. He watched her dash away down the street, waving back at him with a smile. The hand he waved back with, he noted, had never felt warmer.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A grisly murder brings Britain's worst cop to Rose Tyler's doorstep. Can Alec Hardy bring himself to trust Rose enough to share more than just determination to avenge the murder of her neighbor?

 

 

Alec's first step after meeting with Rose was to interview her gossip hound of a neighbor. Though it was a wasteful formality, he still hoped to learn _something_ new from her. Mrs. Ellen Peters could tell him what her next door neighbor had for breakfast for the past week, but barely knew that Margaret had a son, let alone what his name was or where he might be found. The chatty hen of a woman was at least certain that Margaret _had_ a son. Even though there was no trace of this man that could easily be found, Mrs. Peters wouldn't be convinced he didn't exist.

He spent the better part of the next week searching through any records he could get a hold of trying to find Mrs. Mather's son. Having a shred of a clue gave him a reason to be up at three in the morning. Of course, he'd have been up anyway. But having that bit of purpose nipping at his heels gave him just enough of an adrenaline rush each night to keep him searching until he found the name Ian Abrams, formerly Robert Mather. He secretly relished cursing and growling at bureaucracy under his breaths while combing through old records. Other times he asked the elusive son why he was hiding. He never expected to actually receive an answer.

This mysterious son of Madge's had to be a deadbeat that didn't deserve her. Alec was as convinced of this as Mrs. Peters was of the man's existence. Maybe he was a lowlife that turned away from his no doubt proper upbringing. Maybe he turned his back on his parents when they needed him most. Perhaps he simply didn't care. No decent human being would leave a good soul like Mrs. Mather behind. Most parents worried about failing their children. Alec had no doubts that it had to be the other way around in this case.

He ventured out to the suburbs outside London, where Mr. Abrams lived. The suburban air wafted past his nose through his rolled windows, and it was just different enough from the city. The bakery he passed by was homier, not shoved into a hole in the wall as the one near the coffee shop he frequented in the city. It had Alec realizing that he hadn't gone further than a few blocks out from his flat since he'd arrived in London. He hadn't considered it home until he was moving away from it. Though it wasn't his empty flat he found himself particularly attached to. He could sleep anywhere. He'd been living in his work more than he had his paper-walled apartment. That work incidentally brought him near Rose. He could accept at least in a small way that her company made him feel alive. He could accept that having her number on his mobile provided him with a bit of comfort. Some nights he considered finding a reason to call her, to double check a detail or two, just to let her honey-coated voice soothe his ears. He never did, mind, but he considered it. Simply thinking about it was innocent enough. That wasn't factoring in the way he looked at the back of his hands and remembered her thumbs brushing them, her palms warming his. She was proving to be quite the distraction. If the reason this case went unsolved was because he'd gone soft, forget about the public. He still hadn't forgiven himself for the last case.

He could have simply phoned Mr. Abrams. Alec would have gained no more case-pertinent information by seeing his face. Though he made his way over to Abrams' for his own peace of mind, Alec told his super he was being thorough. Both were true, at least. He couldn't keep letting his charming witness to continue doing all his work for him. And he needed to see the man that had turned his back on his mother, the kind-hearted Madge that Alec and Rose were growing attached to.

He imagined a snake slithering to the door. Much to his surprise, that's not who answered it. The door flew open in the middle of Alec's second round of knocking. A man roughly his own age, a portly and bald man with a suitably jolly smile threw the door back. His “can I help you sir” didn't stampede out of his mouth as with most introductions. He took care in his words, and spoke them in a smoky, cautious tone. He didn't stay so congenial and pleasant for very long.

Alec straightened up and lowered his brow. “Mr. Robert Mather?”

He knew he had the right man when some color faded from his plump, pink face. Nobody had addressed him as such for a while. The polite mask he'd put on for answering the door gave way Ian Abrams fell back into his foyer as if he was greeting his own ghost, the ghost of Robert Mather. So it hadn't just been a simple name change. He could argue changing his name and moving away. That could happen for any number of reasons. Ian Abrams' heaving chest and wide eyes suggested something deeper was at work.

“I'm Detective Inspector Hardy from the - ”

Abrams' face turned somber. “You're here about my mother.”

“Yes. May I come in?”

Abrams' wife put a kettle on while he and Alec settled in the living room. Abrams sank into his armchair and let his chin fall into his palm while he stared at Alec, bearing down on him. For a moment he appeared to be in a right state of panic, making certain his door was locked and latched behind them after Alec stepped in, as well as drawing all his blinds. For a moment Alec thought he'd been seeing things. The man went from jovial to anxious simply at the mere mention of his birth name. He lived on a quiet, tucked away cul-de-sac in Elstree. Children played on the street, an elderly lady not unlike Madge was doing her gardening next door. An air of peace wafted about the street. Unless Abrams did something he'd have no reason to hide. Theoretically.

“I saw her story in the papers. A few pages back,” Abrams explained while staring off into his empty fireplace. He wrinkled his nose and pursed his lips after he spoke. “We were home that night.”

Alec leaned forward on the plush couch, leaning on his arms. “So, if you're aware of your mother's passing, why haven't you come to claim her? If you saw the story in the newspapers you would know that we have been searching for relatives or loved ones to take care of her,” he laid into the man, scolding him from across the room.

A slight smirk wanted to tug at Alec's mouth when he pictured Rose standing before the man waving her arms about while reminding him how awful she thought it was that he'd left his poor sweet old mother behind to fend for herself. Perhaps he should have brought her along after all. He didn't know much about Rose, but he did know she excelled in tugging at heartstrings. Alec had also met her firebrand of a mother, so he imagined she could knock his teeth in as well, if it was necessary.

“I can't,” Abrams sighed. Well he'd guessed as much already. It was the details Alec was missing. “I'm – we're under protection.”

Alec clicked his pen and flipped his notebook open, leaning on his knees further. “Go on,” he muttered just above his breath.

Ian Abrams told Alec a strikingly ironic story of how he and his wife witnessed the murder of a coworker of his wife's two years and eight months prior. Alec's stomach flipped a couple times when he learned that they had been luckier than Madge in that they were merely threatened rather than murdered in cold blood. As Abrams was relaying this story to Alec, he imagined Abrams' mother Madge in Rose's arms, trying to use her last few breaths to tell Rose something, something that might help them find her killer. And there was the matter of astronomical odds. What were the odds of two members of the same family witnessing a murder late at night on a dark street?

“Were your identities concealed as witnesses?” Alec's brow bunched up in confusion. He peppered Abrams with a series of questions. “Do you know the names of the two men who killed the woman outside your wife's office? Were they convicted? I need to know why you're in hiding.”

He only became aware of his tone rising when he found Abrams clawing at the arms of his chair as he tried to mold himself to the back, as if he could hide from the barrage of questions in the wrinkled leather.

“We didn't ask for this, you know! My wife and I, we were happy. She worked a late night once. Just once! Changed everything for us. Do you think I wanted to leave my mother alone? I haven't slept in days just wondering if it's _him_ , finding some way to punish me. Punish us,” Abrams fired back, knees knocking together as his heart poured out of his mouth.

“Who's _he_?”

“Payne. John Payne. We found out he's a loan shark.”

Alec suppressed an eye roll. “Mrs. Abrams' coworker skipped out on a payment then,” he guessed. Abrams nodded. “Where is he now? Payne?”

“Prison. But that doesn't - ”

“Doesn't mean he can't still operate his business on some level, I agree.” Alec paused to think, swirling all the facts around in his head. They'd already established that he was here in Elstree on the night of his mother's murder. Alec had little reason to believe otherwise. The man looked like he'd scarcely left his house since moving in. Though it was possible the Abrams were also just pack rats. But he didn't think this was a coincidence. “A neighbor told me she overheard you and your mother having a heated argument two years ago just before you disappeared. Can you explain that to me?”

Abrams relaxed his body, slumping over a little as though somebody had cut his marionette strings. He stared down at his empty tea mug, perhaps willing it to rescue him from divulging more information. Alec would have thought simply showing up on his mother's behalf would have made the man spill it all without being prompted. He was beginning to feel more like a boa constrictor than a detective inspector.

“We had a bit of a falling out,” Abrams sighed.

“Care to elaborate?”

“When I told mum what the Mrs. and I saw, she demanded we tell the cops what happened. We told her about the threat. But she was having none of it. Somebody already died, she said.”

Alec felt his pen digging into his fingers as he clenched his fist around it. This man did not deserve his mother. His mother deserved a son that would stand by her side always, even in death. Instead she was plagued with a bloody coward.

“And she was right.”

Abrams sighed. “Yeah. I listened in the end, didn't I?”

Alec left the Abrams household a few minutes later before he raked the man over the coals himself. He was still a bloody coward. And he knew it. Otherwise he would have still been in his mother's life. He might have been there for her, walked her dog late at night so she didn't have to (if she would have let him). Maybe the brave and kind old Margaret Mather might still be alive if it weren't for her son's cowardice. It was all an unfortunate situation. Perhaps Abrams' actions had very little to do with his mother's death. Still, the similarities between Mrs. Abrams' coworker and Madge's deaths were too strikingly similar to ignore.

Alec gripped his steering wheel tight and sped along chasing the horizon leading him home. Home. He considered all of the information he just learned and knew he should share it with his super. But there was someone else he wanted to call first. She wasn't his partner. She wasn't even a cop. But she was the only one who would appreciate the volume of what he'd just learned. She was the only one who would share in his frustrations with Abrams. She would actually want to help him weed through all the facts, something he desperately needed. And though Alec was supposed to be distancing himself from Rose, since she was a witness in his case, seeing her in the window of the coffee shop as he neared home had him wanting to pull right in to buy a coffee just to talk to her. He hadn't seen Rose in days, and hadn't thought of her much in that time. But traveling away, just a little ways, for just a few hours had him realizing she'd become a small part of what made London home. No more than five minutes after sinking into his couch that evening he gave Rose a call and updated her on the case.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A grisly murder brings Britain's worst cop to Rose Tyler's doorstep. Can Alec Hardy bring himself to trust Rose enough to share more than just determination to avenge the murder of her neighbor?

 

“How bout we meet? I haven't seen you in a week, Alec. Come by mine. Have you eaten? Bet you haven't, skinny thing you are. I haven't had tea just yet. I can whip something up right quick and we can have a chat, yeah?”

It was good that Alec was sitting down. Rose spoke in such a flurry he could barely keep up. “Your flat?”

“Problem with that?” She still managed to lace her bit of sweetness in with perfect nonchalance. It was no big deal to her of course.

“It's not professional, meeting with a witness in private.” He paused to listen to her snort on the other end. “A restaurant? I'll cover dinner.”

Her giggle spread from his ears to his chest like sunshine after a thunderstorm. “Sod that. Professional? Come off it, Alec. You and me, we're different. You know that. I've missed seeing your grumpy face. And maybe I don't want to share it with anyone. My place. Half hour.”

His mobile beeped and she rang off before he could argue with her further. A half hour barely gave him any time to freshen up before heading out. Alec shuffled into his bathroom to wash up. He changed his clothes, a jumper and slightly wrinkled trousers. It was suitably casual but polite. He dipped into his cologne a little, just enough to mask any remaining hints of petrol and Mrs. Abrams' cooking. He could have walked to Rose's, but was running late by the time he stepped out the door, and his heart wouldn't tolerate any unnecessary running. He didn't much like the idea of Rose cooking after her long work day. But she was one Alec was quickly learning wouldn't be argued with. He wouldn't have to wait long to find out what Rose was cooking up.

“It's just pasta,” Rose stammered just above her breath as she let Alec in the door. “Nothing special.”

He hated pasta. “Oh. Pasta is just fine,” Alec mumbled. “Good. Pasta's good.”

He'd come really close to simply telling her he hated pasta. But Rose was so nervous she was trembling like a pup in the cold. Her hands roamed her body, twisting her blonde strands into curls, rubbing her neck, and pressing her clothes so much she created new wrinkles instead of ironing out the creases. Alec was used to making _suspects_ dreadfully nervous, not women. Alec thought he had the woman all figured out until he saw her like this. She'd sounded so sure of herself over the phone. Now she was asking him to excuse her barely furnished flat because she couldn't afford much yet. Unlike him, the desire was there. Her hopes and dreams were waiting to fill her tiny abode. It would be completely covered in them if she had her way.

Alec told Rose he wasn't worth fretting over as she disappeared into her little kitchen to plate the pasta. She returned a moment later with two plates and plopped them down on her rickety dining table. It was just big enough to seat two. His knees might knock hers, he thought. Rose looked up from the plates and tucked her hair back. Her expression perplexed him. Her eyes were soft and warm, but weighed down by a furrowed brow. Before she said anything her hand crept across the table to meet his where he was leaning.

“You actually mean that, don't you?” Rose chided gently. “Of course you're worth fretting over. I've missed you, haven't I? I'd have said come round tomorrow so I could fix you a proper meal otherwise. Honestly I was going to ring you tonight when I got home.” She tucked her tongue in her teeth. “You beat me to it.” She patted a chair at the table. “Sit. I'll fetch the wine.”

“Wine,” Alec rasped, and obeyed.

“Don't you go scolding me. I already had it on hand, okay?” Rose hollered from the kitchen. “It's cheap anyway.”

He sat up as she reappeared with a bottle of red wine and two glasses between her fingers. “Wine is never cheap. Inexpensive, yes. But not cheap.” Alec pointed out.

There it went again, that tongue of hers, between her teeth, licking her lips. He felt his heart throbbing, and it made Alec wonder if Rose would be good for it or dangerous. She bit her bottom lip teasingly, bringing some of her lipstick with it, and he thought it might be a bit of both. She hadn't changed clothes, and was still wearing her barista uniform. A cool jolt of guilt raced down his spine when she sank into her dining chair and sighed with a vacant grin spreading across her tired face. Had she worked a double shift today, gone straight from Henrik's to the coffee shop? It was still early in the day so Alec doubted it. But all the same she'd been fixing food and drink for people all day. If he didn't worry about burning her kitchen down he'd have made the meal himself.

“Reckon you learned something new since you called,” Rose reasoned as she growled at the bottle of wine. She grinned triumphantly at it when the cork popped.

“I should have brought something,” Alec muttered as Rose filled the wine glasses. “I'm rubbish at this.”

What he meant to say was normally he hated wining and dining. But even if Rose turned out to be a horrible cook, he could eat up that laugh of hers and drink in her warm smile. All right fine, he'd missed the lass. She already had him making silent promises to himself to take her out on his dime to show her he could be a proper gentleman. It could still be considered marginally innocent.

Rose's fingers mingled with his briefly as she passed him his glass. “You brought yourself didn't you?” She winked at him and sucked in a deep breath. She was still so nervous, drumming her fingers on the table for a moment before tucking into her meal. And even then, as she ducked her head to accept her first bite she peered up at Alec with wide, anxious eyes. “What's going on with the case?”

A distraction. Perfect. There was a lot to update Rose on. “Mrs. Mather does indeed have a son. And your neighbor Mrs. Peters was right, he did have a falling out with her two years ago.”

Alec updated Rose on Madge as they ate. The idea that he could discuss an open case with Rose without tension and anxiety bubbling up was still throwing him a little. Rose gripped her fork tight and furrowed her brow at him when he told her why Abrams had a falling out with his mother. But she still listened, drinking in all the details along with her little sips of wine. At first he attributed her silence to the food and wine. But she leaned in, narrowing her eyes at him, a tigress stalking her prey.

“So let me get this straight. Ian goes to his wife's work to, what, pick her up? They're outside, walking to the car park, and happen upon two blokes killing a woman? What was his wife doing at work so late?” Rose slammed her fork on the table and rattled off what was on her mind.

“Not relevant,” Alec answered in the middle of a sip.

“All right. So this Mr. John Payne, loan shark, hires two thugs to kill a _woman_? That's a bit off, isn't it? I mean, a loan shark kills off people who owe him, yeah? I'm not saying women don't gamble, Alec. But how many do you know?”

Alec's image of the delicate, sweet shop girl was crumbling like a stale biscuit with her nonchalance for all this. She raised her nearly empty wine glass and gestured roughly with it, sloshing what remained of its crimson contents. She spoke of murder and thugs in the same manner most girls her age would shoes and celebrities. She'd lit a vanilla scented candle for the table that bathed her lightly flushed skin in warmth as her hungry grin grew with each second. Her eyes widened and she kicked her head back a little while tossing scenarios around. She was loving this, the adventure of it all. It reminded him of half the reason he'd come over in the first place.

Alec sighed back his smile for Rose's enthusiasm as he reigned her back in. “A loan shark doesn't get rid of his source of income, Rose. He sends warnings and messages by harming those close to his target.”

Rose jumped up in her chair. “Oh! Alec!” She slammed her now empty glass down. Her old (likely secondhand) table creaked in complaint. “What if the hit was meant for Mrs. Abrams?”

It was difficult not to be pleased with her reasoning, even if it was flawed. “That was the one night Mrs. Abrams worked late, Ian said.”

“Well, okay. But what if they were following her, right?” Rose argued. “Waiting for her to come out, 'cause only so many people could come out of an office building late at night. And instead of getting Mrs. Abrams they kill her coworker? It doesn't matter if they knew they were wrong, 'cause they still saw Mr. and Mrs. Abrams. Still just as important to keep a lid on them.”

Alec was about to call Rose out on her reasoning when he considered the facts. Ian could have been a compulsive gambler. Maybe he frittered away too much money. If he couldn't make ends meet with the loan shark, it was distinctly possible Payne would use his wife to suss him out. Alec didn't know the first thing about John Payne. But it wasn't out of the realm of possibilities for him to hire a pair of brainless oafs. Either that or Mrs. Abrams and her coworker looked similar in the dark.

“So Payne's men realize they've been spotted,” Alec voiced his thoughts. “They threaten him. I doubt Abrams' wife knows if this is the case.”

“But you said he told you Payne was in prison.”

“He is. It doesn't mean he can't still operate his business. If he's as much of a crime lord as Ian implied it doesn't matter much. Prison might be a second home to him. I haven't looked into it yet. What I was going to say was it's distinctly possible Payne is still going after Abrams. If we can find him through his mother, it's possible his thugs were able to find her through him. They had a head start, having already known him. Regardless of whether any of that is correct, one bit holds true: Payne had Abrams so terrified that it took his mother to convince him to testify.”

“I still can't believe it. That they're related. So Madge basically tells him, what, she'd rather have no son than one who wouldn't stand up for justice?” Rose stood up from the table and collected his empty plate, nodding towards the kitchen.

“In no uncertain terms, yes. If Payne is indeed after Abrams, his mother would unfortunately be a prime target.”

He gently nudged Rose away from the sink so he could tend to the dishes. It was the least he could do after not bringing anything. Rose cupped his arm and stroked it before disappearing into the main room to grab the rest of the dishes.

“It doesn't make sense though, Alec.” She said his name like they'd known each other for years. It was as soothing as the warm notes from the wine. “If it was a 'professional' hit, why leave Madge on the street like that?”

Alec gritted his teeth. He answered low, barely above a whisper. Bringing voice to the though had his stomach churning. “To send a message.”

He knew he didn't need to elaborate when she froze, stopping short of the sink with the remaining dishes for a moment. Rose cared for Madge almost as much, if not more so, as Madge's own son did. The truth was always gruesome in murder cases. The nature of the crime dictated it. In a perfect world people didn't do this to one another. But then how would Alec have met Rose? Why did a brutal act have to be what drew them together? Though turning a head to look at Rose properly, even when she was exhausted from a full day's work she was still young and fresh. Her messy bun wasn't coming undone as much as it was freeing itself. The gentle flush from the wine on her cheeks brought out the youth in her skin. Her uniform skirt flattered her well toned thighs. Though she had held his hand and offered him sweet smiles, she wouldn't have given him the time of day of he wasn't the detective on Madge's case.

“What should our next move be?” Rose asked, and started drying clean dishes next to him.

Alec nearly dropped his plate. He'd just been thinking about the case and how it brought Rose into his life. “You mean what should _my_ next move be?”

She chuffed. “Now don't go starting that again. You've got to stop pushing me away, Alec. I'm in this with you, for the long haul. Now come on, seriously. Where do we go from here?”

He set the fork he'd been washing down. “No. I'm serious. It's not safe for you anymore.”

Rose breathed a little chuckle of disbelief and kept drying dishes. Her complete nonchalance ignited something in him. Alec whirled around and growled, commanding Rose's attention. She turned from the drying rack and he took his chance, capturing her there with a hand on either side of her waist clasping the counter. He watched her smile fade and the blush on her cheeks grow. He caught a peek of the sweet swells of her breasts quivering through the popped buttons on her blouse. His own heart was questioning his motives, reminding him it couldn't handle the sight of a trapped doe before him. He stifled the thought. She battled her nerves by playing with her hair, releasing her bun in a cascade of flaxen locks.

“I want you safe. Do you understand me?”

She chuffed a warm breath onto his lips. “You think I don't know the risks? You know I'm cleverer than that, Alec Hardy. Give me some credit. You're worried that Payne will send his thugs after me to keep me quiet, yeah? Well hasn't it always been a risk? How's is riskier us knowing about it? I've always been in danger, haven't I? If you had your way I'd be locked up in here all day where you can have someone keep an eye on me, yeah?” He remained silent. Every effort was spent trying to remain calm, to contain his heart. The tension was dizzying. “Fat chance of that happening. Best thing for me is to keep them guessing, keep working, keep putting the pressure on them until they crumble. If you think you're going to keep me away, look at how far we've gotten together. I'm not stopping now just because you're aware of the danger. Sod that. Besides, I'd never get to see you.”

“Rose - ”

“Oh enough.”

Rose tugged him closer by his tie, right in for a kiss. Their mouths crashed, knocking their teeth until Rose pulled back slowly, letting her fingers crawl up his scruff until they had a firm grip on his neck. Alec kept his grip on the counter, not brave enough or perhaps not trusting himself enough. But it didn't matter. Rose brought her lips to his with a little squeak as she found his hand and brought it to her back. With permission granted he pulled her off the counter and she smiled against his lips. The question of why the hell Rose would want to kiss him was quickly replaced with why she'd like to massage the nape of his neck as she did so, and then again by what she could possibly get out of dipping her fingers just beneath the waistband of his trousers as they sneaked behind his jacket. She rutted her hips against his, urging him to hold her tighter, reminding him she wouldn't break as she stole kiss after kiss. She finally brought a few across his beard and tucked her head in his neck with breathy giggles. Her hand moved to dancing across his scruff as she continued to laugh.

“You've got a beard,” She mumbled into his shirt collar.

“You hadn't noticed before?” He croaked, breathless.

“Haven't kissed a bloke with a beard before.”

“Rose, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken advantage of you like that. It was unprofessional of me. Shouldn't have had that blasted wine.”

He wanted to swallow these words and bury them deep. But a proper man treated her better. A proper gentleman didn't take advantage of a girl in her own flat. His witness. He relinquished his hold on her and began to back away.

She could have lashed out at him. But she was gentle, if persuasive. “Stay, Alec. I want to know more about you than just the detective. Just stay a while, and talk about something other than the case, or work. Sit on the couch and watch some telly with me, okay? If you go now I won't see you again until the trial.” She licked her lips. “I already know the stuffy detective.” She started walking, and took his hand, leading him back into the other room. “I want to know _you_ , the _man_ I just kissed. Okay?”

Arguing seemed pointless then. They both wanted the same things. Rose was simply brave enough to voice it. What they were doing was against protocol. And even if it wasn't, they barely knew each other. They were going about this in the wrong order. Her grin after she lifted her head from his neck told him she felt that spark too, though. It was there, a little fire behind her lips that he was desperate to fuel but not quite brave enough. Her lips, so soft, swollen, and flavored with wine felt like home nestled between his. And though he felt dizzy with his heart trying so hard to keep up, he hadn't felt alive in so long. Rose breathed life into him.

Not long after Alec sat down on Rose's couch, she was curling up to him and tucking her legs in as if a cuddle on the couch while watching telly with him was something they'd done a thousand times before. Part of it might have been the wine easing them into some comfort. He knew he shouldn't have, and wanted to fight it so hard. But she smiled up at him as he wrapped an arm around her to get comfortable. He was thankful that she got so wrapped up in a quiz show that she forgot all about getting to know the real him. Once she did she might rethink her choice to kiss him. He was grateful for the moment, to be able to hold her warmth close and press little pecks to her soft blonde crown. He didn't even argue when she snatched his mobile out of his hands after it buzzed, urging him to let them have this moment. He was none too eager to return to the real world, especially when he learned it brought with it news that turned his case on its head.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A grisly murder brings Britain's worst cop to Rose Tyler's doorstep. Can Alec Hardy bring himself to trust Rose enough to share more than just determination to avenge the murder of her neighbor?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a few crime scene details.

“Fuck!”

Rose shot up on the couch and rubbed her eyes, groaning in confusion. She’d slumped over when he got up to check his mobile shortly after she fell asleep on his shoulder. He’d intended to slip away quietly, despite his fear of Rose’s anger for him leaving unannounced. But it was too late now. She was awake and he had to leave. His mobile had buzzed a few times two hours ago, when Rose playfully plucked it from his fingers. At the time he was glad for it. Those two hours spent with Rose tucked under his arm had been free of any thoughts beyond how comfortable he felt with her. Only when his mobile started going off again did he realize he’d been lulled to sleep by the flowery fragrance in her hair and her even sleepy puffs of breaths.

“Alec?” she mewled. Only with the dulcet tones of Rose’s voice did he tolerate being called Alec. She’d called him this plenty of times, but when she yawned it the realization hit him just as hard as the sudden buzzing of his mobile.

“I’ve got to go. A van matching the description you gave has turned up. It’s down at the station and I need to go have a look.” She raised her finger and took a breath. “No you can’t come.”

She folded her arms and turned her head up at him. “Wasn’t gonna ask.”

“I need you safe.” His brow folded on its own, reaching out to her smirk, eliciting a genuine look in her eyes.

“Why, because I’m your key witness?”

Already she was testing him, dipping her toes into the fresh waters of whatever was flowing between them. Neither of them dared put a word to it. Their company should have been enough. It was for him. Alec knew so much about Rose, but when she played this game of subtle hint-dropping and misdirection he felt there was so much more that he had to learn. There was a hidden context in her question. Was he going along with her advances, or did he want more as she did? She had to know that he always found her perplexing, was constantly piecing her together like a puzzle. If she did, it didn’t bother her in the slightest. If anything it produced those cheeky grins of hers, the batting eyelashes, enchanting eyes, and honeyed words.

He didn’t have an answer to her question, not one that would satisfy her curiosity at least. Was needing her to be safe not telling enough? Hadn’t he given her a big enough piece of himself that day? How much would be enough? He had a clue in this department at least, but it was a topic he couldn’t even approach. He had a job to do.

“I don’t want you to suffer Madge’s fate.” He offered her the truth.

Her puffed sigh told him he’d been right. She wanted more. But she let it go. Or so he’d thought. Rose stood up and approached him, straightening up his tie. It was horribly wrinkled and had a trickle of wine on it from dinner. Maybe she needed a reason to touch him, to be close. He wouldn’t argue with this sentiment. He could almost feel her fingers dancing along his neck as she fixed the knot in his tie.

“Does it have to be tonight? You’ve run yourself ragged already. You look exhausted, Alec.”

“They wouldn’t text me and ring me so many times if they didn’t feel it was important.”

“Yeah, but you’re gonna go over there and study it all, pouring over it, forgetting all about sleep. I know you.”

“Do you now?”

Their eyes met. Hers weren’t playful as he might have expected but overcast with concern. Her hair was an adorably tangled mess, partially curtaining her eyes before she combed it back with her fingers. His jacket button had left an imprint on one of her pink cheeks. If he concentrated he could still faintly smell her hair. His fingers ached to touch her, disregarding propriety and reaching out for her. He pulled them back and stuffed his hands in his pockets. The moment was lost. He’d have the memory at least, even as the evidence faded.

Rose wasn’t content with his. Her eyes trailed down to his pockets and back up. She rocked up onto her tip toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, tickling the fringes of his hair and making him suck in a sharp breath. Alec stood bolt upright. His subconscious efforts at keeping his distance apparently drew her in closer. Her face relaxed into a catlike smile and he could almost hear her purr under her breath before she kissed his scruffy beard. It was just a peck, but it left it’s mark in warmth and a shiver down his neck beneath the touch of her delicate fingers. His chest fluttered and her tongue peaked between her teeth in triumph.

“Promise me you won’t be up all night working on this.”

“Promise me you will stay safe and be careful.”

She’d been burrowing into his gaze with her direct, pleading eyes but they rolled after hearing this. “You’ve got to let me live my life, Alec. It doesn’t stop just because you’re worried.”

“Just like I can’t rest until I’ve made at least some headway in this.”

She chuffed at him. “You’ve done a lot already. Madge needs you at your best.”

Rose had no way of knowing how deep this cut, soft words slicing right through the little wall he’d put up blocking his regrets. As always it was only temporary, not unlike their embrace. He pulled away and sighed. Her confusion was worse than appearing wounded by his distance. In that moment he felt acutely the mistake he’d made that evening. In letting her get close she took liberties with their relationship - whatever that might have been. She held higher expectations of him, expectations that she had no idea were nigh impossible to meet. He couldn’t erase the image he’d crafted of her holding Madge as she died. The two of them weren’t inseparable, but they were tied with a tight knot. Disappointing Rose meant disappointing Madge, and vise versa. Neither were options. He was going to try bloody hard to find Madge’s killer. But he couldn’t dismiss the niggling worry that he might fail.

“Hey, it’s me, remember?” Rose closed the distance he’d placed between them, capturing both his hands. Her voice was soft, as though he was a rabbit she was aiming to coax into her palms. It would work. “We’re together in this. You’re not alone. I’m going to support you. But you’re not gonna let me go down to the station with you so this is the best I can do, yeah?” His shoulders sank with her thumbs stroking his hands. She could tame a lion. “You can figure this out. Just pace yourself.”

Rose didn’t wait for Alec to answer. She rose up on her tip toes again, using his hands for balance as she kissed him. This one was softer, tentative and gentle. Just as he was consider licking slumber’s dryness off her soft lips they pulled away. He considered giving chase but her smile told him it wouldn’t be permitted. It was a tease, just as she was. She knew she had him when he licked her sweetness off his lips. A wry smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. His eyes fell to the couch behind her and a small part of him had a deep craving for all of this to go away so he could sit back down and pull her back in his arms. It was difficult to admit this to himself, much less wish his problems away. They kept him alive, _wanting_ to live.

She ran her finger down his nose and pressed it to his lips. “Ring me when you get home, okay?”

He spoke against her finger. “Why would -”

“’Cause you’re an honest man, Alec. Other blokes ring from the office or send a text or forget. But you won’t. You’ll ring me when you get home. And I know you’re gonna ignore my advice and work all night. So no worries about waking me. But if I catch you workin’ through the next day I _will_ come down there and give you a piece of my mind, DI Hardy.”

He swallowed hard and imagined the look on his super’s face. She wouldn’t even rescue him, he knew this much. The Tyler women weren’t a force to be reckoned with.

“That won’t be necessary, thank you.”

She folded her arms. “Bloody right it won’t be. Now go on then detective, go do your detective inspecting, yeah? And you let me know once you’ve slept so you can take me out for a date.”

“I’m sorry what?”

She pecked his cheek and ushered him to the door. “See you later.”

That little kiss followed him to the station. It buoyed him, for which he was grateful when he got to the station’s forensics garage. He’d been compiling scenarios in his mind until he saw the innocuously ominous black van with its back doors wide open and a forensics team surrounding it like a pack of vultures. Evidently it must have only just turned up because the van’s contents were still intact. Despite their repeated calls, Alec appeared to be just on time.

Alec slowly approached the van and squinted as he inspected it. By the dented front bumper and part of the side, Alec guessed it had been dumped somewhere, though not well enough. A tree branch had pierced the windshield. The crew was working on extracting it without damaging evidence as he walked in. _That_ explained the delay in their work, he realized. With the branch work going on he couldn’t see anything on the front seats. So walked around to the back. That was a completely different story.

One of the techs walked him through what she knew. Alec found out that the van had been dumped in a deep ravine in Chiswick. They were extraordinarily lucky with this one, because recent rainfall made the ground slippery, and a jogger stumbled into it. If this was the work of Payne and his thugs, they did a rush job of disposing of the van. Alec might have expected a more professional job. Frankly he was shocked to see cable ties strewn about the back, two mobiles just sitting beneath the front seats, and traces of blood in the places they forgot to clean. He stood as the team carefully sprayed the van with luminol and watched the back light up. One realization smacked him in the face like a winter’s chill: they now had at least another murder victim to find. His heart sank, taking just a smidgen of hope with it.

Before the techs could even relay to him any additional information they’d gathered Alec began to play a series of scenarios in his mind. Madge saw a crime taking place. He’d known this from the start. Now he was almost certain it was a kidnapping that must have turned to murder. If the victim or victims inside the van saw Madge’s murder Alec didn’t see Payne’s thugs allowing them to live either. The pool of blood they haphazardly cleaned up was too large for someone to have lived after losing it. That is of course unless there really were multiple victims. More questions arose from the discovery of the van than were answered. The only item the perpetrators had been clever enough to stash elsewhere was the gun used to kill Madge. No bullet casings had been found. So the only thing that could potentially tie the vehicle to her murder at that moment was missing.

Not all was lost. The two mobiles found could be crucial to the case. They were smashed to hell, likely stomped on as they disposed of the car. It was all done in a rush. There were plenty of spots they’d missed with the bleach. They’d left the cable ties the mobiles. There were better ways of disposing of a car. What had rushed them so much? The perpetrators’ only saving grace - for the moment - was that they had at least been clever enough to wear gloves. The likelihood that this was their first offense was high given what was laid out before him, but it was still doubtful. Surely they weren’t spooked by an elderly woman walking her dog late at night on the estate? These idiots had to at least have some spines on them. Something wasn’t right, but Alec couldn’t put his finger on it.

There was nothing that Alec could do until at least some of the results from the forensics work came back. His exhaustion had him more than a little cranky at being called in merely to _see_ the van. But the details clawed at the back of his mind all the same. Even if he did go home that night there was little chance he’d actually sleep. So he went back to his desk and poured over it all, every detail. One thing had remained consistent through all of it: they were lazy and rushed. Either that or they didn’t care. Something was much more important than covering their tracks. It was usually money. And if these were Payne’s men that would be it. The question was how much were they lusting after, and who did it rightfully belong to? Their witness was dead and whoever they had with them in the van was in their safe custody, so why did they rush so much?

By the time the sun rose Alec felt like he hadn’t accomplished anything, again. He’d neglected to take his medication so he was clutching his chest when his super ran into him on her way in. After promising her that he was all right (a bold-faced lie) he made his way to his car, popped a pill, and headed home. In the end Rose had been right. Alec could barely drive, and that was before his crippling chest pain and dizziness held him back even further while waiting for the medicine to kick in.

He spotted her on her way into work and his heart nearly stopped. It had only been so many hours since he’d seen her last but she looked every bit the angel he’d left in her flat. She grinned as she greeted another barista stepping in. He looked at his mobile and hummed. It was a Tuesday. Rose worked at the department store during the day on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. Either she was taking his advice of sticking close to home to heart or her schedule had changed. She stood in the doorway for a moment. Alec sighed as she brushed back her hair and chatted away. She picked her mobile up out of her purse and stared at it for a moment as her coworker talked, frowning at it. Was she waiting on him to ring her?

“Alec, darling, I was worried. Well. Not really. Not happy you didn’t ring sooner. You home?”

Her face lit up as she answered. It was all the warmth he needed after spending all night sifting through the horrible minutia of a murder case. And ‘darling’? Where did that come from?

“On my way home, Rose.”

“Yeah? Then what are you doin’ on the phone with me you pillock? Get home and get some rest.”

“You’re not going to pester me about the case?”

“I figure you don’t want to talk about it if you’re so knackered. Also I’m about to head in to work, so I can’t.”

“Right. I’ll let you go.”

When she giggled and sighed into his ear he shut his eyes to soak it in. “If you’d rang earlier you could have caught me in bed, you know.” He watched her bite her lip and grin. Ever the tease. “Can I talk to you later after my shift though?”

“I’d like that,” he admitted.

“Yeah?”

He took the keys out of the ignition. “Yeah, it would be nice to hear your voice.”

From across the street it was difficult to tell if she was blushing or not, but she pulled her mobile away from her ear and held it to her chest for a moment as she beamed with glee. Talking to him couldn’t possibly be so fantastic. There truly were parts of Rose that he really didn’t understand.

“Well you get home and sleep and I’ll ring you. Soon as I get off.”

“No. As soon as you’re _home_ ,” he asserted gruffly. “Please.”

She chuffed. “So you can skip over the rules but I can’t? Some copper you are, Hardy.”

“I can protect myself.”

He had to admit, she looked a little cute as she stamped her heel on the pavement. “So can I!”

“I don’t want to talk about our date when you’re in public.”

He could hear her squeal from across the street, though she held the mobile to her chest again. “All right then. Talk to you later!”

Rose dashed inside, stuffed her mobile in her purse, and started waving her arms at her coworker. She was telling her friends about her date? As if he was an item to discuss with coworkers? She was truly a perplexing woman. Alec looked himself in the mirror and wondered what Rose saw that he didn’t. Nevertheless, he took one last gaze as he exited his car and headed across the street. As he peered through the coffee shop window she met eyes with him. He could feel her eyes on him as he hurried upstairs.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A grisly murder brings Britain's worst cop to Rose Tyler's doorstep. Can Alec Hardy bring himself to trust Rose enough to share more than just determination to avenge the murder of her neighbor?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is **NSFW**. It's also changed quite a bit since I planned it. But there will be more fun in the next one, coming soon.

Rose tentatively climbed the staircase outside the cafe after her shift. She’d had Alec on her mind all day, and might have gone to check during her lunch break to see if he really did go upstairs if she wasn’t certain he was at least attempting to sleep. So she waited and raced around the cafe working her arse off, because the best distraction was keeping busy. It didn’t work of course, but it helped pass the day quicker.

Her mind was plenty busy all right, but with constructing the inside of Alec’s flat. It would be sparsely furnished with old pieces she guessed, because he’d hate to go out and buy new furniture. It would be organized but not neat. He’d appreciate a lived in space. There’d always be a shirt or suit jacket hanging off a chair or the arm of the couch. Alec would have a cupboard full of mugs but only use the one. He’d only sleep on one side of the bed. She’d love his couch, or more like being in his arms again on his couch. She wouldn’t get to find out. Not right away at least. As Rose was knocking on the door upstairs from the cafe it opened and Alec flew out in a rush.

“Alec? Has there been a development?” Rose shouted after him, following.

“Go home and be safe, Rose!” he barked as he charged down the stairs.

“Ring me later!”

He didn’t look back as he darted across the street to his car (had it been there the entire time? Cheeky man), so he probably didn’t hear her. Was it always like this for him? Did he always have long draughts in clues until a flood came? If it bothered him it certainly didn’t show. Rose hadn’t known him for more than a couple weeks but he hadn’t changed a bit since the first time she laid eyes on him. Even when he was relaxed (or trying to at least), Alec Hardy’s eyes always looked strained, and his shoulders tense with stress. He couldn’t rest as long as the weight of a crime was on his shoulders. She wished he would; they’d come so close the night before when she fell asleep tucked under his arm.

Her eyes followed his car racing down the road until it disappeared around a corner before she turned to walk home. She let her mind wander, even though he’d warned her to be vigilant. It was his fault anyway, taking off with barely a word leaving her to wonder. It had to be an important development whatever it was. He’d tell her that her fretting over it would do no good. Rose had played her part in it. As far as she knew she couldn’t do much to help him any more. That didn’t mean she was going to simply let him be. She’d gotten wrapped up in this, and Madge deserved to have somebody always on her side. Granted Alec was too. But he was also on the side of the law. Rose only cared about Madge, about using one last breath to desperately to relay something to her. But with the new developments Rose finally felt out of her depth. Though she wasn’t about to give up she was coming to accept that she’d have to step back for a while.

Alec really then had no reason to see her, not for a week or so at least. With less and less for Rose to focus on with the case, her mind moved more and more to learning about Alec. The more she learned about him, the closer she got, the more time she wanted to spend with him. Even if he wasn’t a cop she felt uncommonly comfortable around him, despite him always appearing _uncomfortable_ , even in his own skin. The discomfort shrugging up his shoulders and strain fixing a furrow to his brow couldn’t be permanent, she’d decided. Beneath his stuffy, wrinkled exterior was a softhearted and passionate man. Of course the slight frown and drab clothes were part of who Alec was, and she wouldn’t change it for anything. She thought about peeling it all away for a while (oh yes, definitely including the clothes) to get to the man that he seemed to be keeping from her.

Rose fancied a _man_. A grown man with a proper job, a sense of responsibility, a respect for women, and a pair of ears that he actually used to listen. That was an even stranger idea than fancying a man like Alec, not at all her type. He had her wondering just what her type was. A grumpy, scruffy detective that seldom got any sleep and couldn’t admit to being lonely? Was that her type? He was now apparently. He was warm, despite his penchant for appearing withdrawn. Others might describe him as a cold and grumpy fish. But they didn’t know Alec like Rose did. Case in point right there, wasn’t it? She knew him, bothered to know him. The prospect of a date, a chance to meet with Alec entirely outside the case they - he - was working on, had her giddy all day.

It wore off when he didn’t ring that evening, or the next day. He wound up texting her telling her that he was busy and he’d contact her when his schedule freed up. It wasn’t a promise, just a, “I’ll contact you.” Her better judgment told her this meant he wouldn’t, that he was shrugging her off. She was still optimistic. She had to trust Alec. Whatever it was that was keeping him busy was probably easier to do without her distracting him. She wondered if finally letting go and setting loose her wiles on him spooked the poor man. But part of letting go was trusting him. So she waited.

And while Rose waited she thought about where she ought to take Alec on a date. Alec’s idea of a date would be dinner and maybe a film if she was lucky. Safe. She didn’t care what they did, honestly. But for Alec’s sake, bless his heart, he needed to be completely removed from his case for just a couple hours. This was why he needed her, if she was so bold (and of course she was). When they’d first met she’d meant something entirely different, that he shouldn’t _work_ the case alone. But what if providing that support was the best Rose could do for him? She wanted this for him, for Alec to be able to have a few moments of peace. An ad on the telly gave her an idea. Her heart rattled its cage with excitement just thinking about it.

He finally rang her two days later, in the middle of the night no less. The piercing light of her mobile filled her dark bedroom with a blue glow before she fumbled with it to answer.

“Mm, Alec?” she muttered in the middle of a yawn-stretch.

“Yeah.”

Rose pulled her duvet back up and slithered beneath it with her mobile on speaker so she could get comfy. She sat Alec’s voice on a pillow and curled up to it. If he saw her how ridiculous would he think she looked? If he was the least bit attracted to her maybe he wouldn’t think as much about that as he would the sight of her. She wasn’t wearing much in the way of pyjamas; a snug cami and shorts.

“Is it a bad time?”

“Almost 1,” she giggled and rolled her eyes.

“Oh is it? Bloody hell I didn’t realize. I can wait until the morning.”

“No, I’m glad you rang,” she insisted. There had to be a good reason for him contacting her at this hour. “Everything all right? How’s the case? You left in a flurry the other day. And when were you planning on tellin’ me you live above my work?”

“Didn’t want you thinking I was following you.”

“You moved in before we met, didn’t you?”

There was a pause in which Rose imagined him fidgeting in bed. Just imagining her detective in bed was a thought that brought a broad grin to her face.

“I suppose.”

“How’s the case? Can I help?”

“Ah, actually you can. Did you know a Layla Scott, by any chance?”

_Did_. Rose felt her heart sink in her chest, pulling her down to the bed like an anchor. She flopped onto her back and sighed. Another victim. She’d felt delightfully groggy before, like she could fall asleep to Alec’s low brogue. She was wide awake now, with her stomach twisting itself into knots.

“No. I can ask the neighbors in the morning.”

He sighed and growled. “No, I’d rather you didn’t.”

Rose sat up a little. “Well you’ve got to let me help somehow.”

“I don’t.”

“What’s with you? You’re gonna change the rules ‘cause there’s another victim?”

“Yes!”

She’d never heard him sound so stern. Almost desperate. If he had neighbors he would’ve woken them. But the shop downstairs was empty, assuming he was at home. His line of questioning had her second guessing where he might be. She hoped he was home at this hour. Was he in bed, wearing pyjamas? Or did he plop down in his work clothes as she figured a workaholic like himself would? Her mind wandered in every direction possible, distracting itself from the stormy front of dread his news had flown in.

“Alec, what’s wrong? ‘Cause it’s not just the case, now is it?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Liar,” she hissed. “Come on then, tell me. You sound almost frightened.”

When there was a long pause Rose closed her eyes and imagined him in bed collecting himself with deep breaths. She imagined herself curled up next to him offering him strength, offering him her own breath if he’d take it. It was entirely too intimate a thought about a bloke she barely knew. She was nearly past the point of caring.

“Please?”

“Come over.”She faintly heard a gulp on the other line. “To my place. Please.”

What? She’d heard that right, hadn’t she? The potential of bringing light to her little imaginings set her heart stampeding and sent heat to her face.

“You’re not worried about my safety?”

“I’ll call you a cab then.”

“Don’t be silly it’s a short walk. I’m just… surprised is all.”

“I need to see you safe. I should have rang earlier.”

“Relax, it’s fine. I’ll be there in a few minutes, yeah?”

Rose got dressed in a flash, throwing on her running sweatpants and a coat over her pyjamas. She packed her work uniform for the next day in case she wound up there for the night. It wasn’t likely but if it was to happen, she’d have a short trip to work, that was for sure. After double and triple checking her purse for her pepper spray she dashed out of her flat towards Alec’s. He was mad, she thought, for needing her safe while throwing her out into the night. Completely nutters. This is what told Rose how fond she was of Alec, that she was willing to practically run the few blocks over to work for him. All because his low rumble raised and crackled in an instant. Something was wrong. Thank goodness it was a path she knew well, else she wouldn’t dare try. The desperation in his voice clung to her throat as the crisp night air rushed into her lungs. Every few steps she whirled her head around, making certain nobody was following. The streets were quiet, speckled with a few empty cabs and nothing else. That was almost worse than the busy middle of the day. Rose practically stumbled up the steps to Alec’s flat. She hadn’t felt so crazy since she’d dated Jimmy. What was he thinking? What was going on?

Alec was waiting for Rose at the top of the stairs outside his flat, and yanked her into his arms when she got there. He gave her a crushing embrace before pulling her inside. He was panting as if he’d been running right alongside her. Rose stole a kiss, sucking the warmth from his lips, as he helped her with her coat. A blush mixed with the chill on her face as she realized he intended for her to stay. No arguments here, she thought. She was well and truly knackered now, despite the adrenaline that spurred her on the whole way over.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” she insisted and turned her head when he leaned in for another kiss, denying him the pleasure until he at least explained himself.

Alec pulled back, let his shoulders sag, and looked at the wall behind her for answers. He couldn’t meet her eyes. “I had a dream last night that Payne had gotten to you. That he hurt you. It’s not the typical nightmare, I had a rough time getting over it.”

“You have nightmares?”

“Yeah,” he croaked.

She pulled him back to her by his waist and buried her head in his arms. His t-shirt smelled distinctly of _him_ : faded sandalwood, tea, and linens with just a hint of winter’s chill and dust. He nestled his face in her hair after pressing a kiss to her forehead. He closed his eyes and his heart’s soothing strumming calmed her, thawing the chill from her lungs.

“Ring me earlier you git,” she mumbled into his shirt. “Did you sleep last night?”

“Not much after, no. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Bothers me more that you rang me in the middle of the night and didn’t tell me straight away, beatin’ around the bush, you git.”

He pushed her back, and even in the dark she could see the guilt hiding the real Alec behind the overly polite and awkward detective. “I’m sorry, I can get you a cab and -”

“No way mister, I’m here now and I want to go to bed. Isn’t that why you asked me over?” He let go altogether and started stammering. Her sudden onset of brazenness took her aback as well, though she tried to hide it beneath a veneer of determination and stubbornness. “Shh. I know you’re not meanin’ to be improper. It’s okay. It’s stupid but I’ve missed you anyway. Now where’s your bedroom, that way?”

She looked toward the hallway and he nodded. She took his hand and led him into his own bedroom. He was so quiet he was impossible to read. The entire flat was dark, so she stepped lightly as they walked, and stopped when she saw his bed. His bed had been made, albeit haphazardly. The duvet on one end was bunched up a little and it wasn’t folded properly. But he’d made an effort. For her? She nipped her lip at the thought of him rushing about his flat to make it presentable for her even if it was one o’clock in the morning and dark. Not only that, he’d rang her but waffled about asking her over. She had to pry it out of him. Bless his heart.

“Is this all right? Can I get you anything? Cup of tea?” Alec offered.

Rose brought her other hand to his, cupping it between hers as she stroked his wrist with her thumbs. “This is lovely. I just want you, in bed.”

She swallowed a laugh at the second spark of boldness. But it worked. Alec peeled back the duvet and rolled into bed, bidding her to follow with an outstretched hand. Rose heard him muttering about how this went against all of his principles as a cop and a man. As she curled up to his side, sighing happily at bits of exposed skin on their stomachs meeting, she whispered to him that everything would be okay. And she hoped that was true. He was allowed to be happy and have his moments of peace. Though judging by his next words he disagreed.

“I need you. I need a strong case against Payne If it’s him for this to work or he’ll walk, Rose. I can’t fail this time. I can’t. But I already feel like I’ve failed them both. Madge and Layla.”

Rose forgave Alec’s tactlessness for all the guilt he carried on his shoulders. It was a miracle it didn’t cripple him. She curled into him closer, making her body flush with his and hiking her leg across his. His heartbeat sounded erratic. She’d give anything to hear it calm, for Alec to be able to give in and relax. He needed it so much, whether he’d admit to it or not.

“You won’t fail. I won’t let you.”

When he gasped a breath and sniffed Rose held him tighter. She wriggled in his arms so she could reach a bit of skin on his neck to kiss. She whispered to him that she was there with him and promised him he wasn’t alone. He responded with a nod and pulled her in tighter. He didn’t seem to want to think about where their relationship was going, less that they had one. He’d at least admitted he wanted her company, in his own way. Rose had no clue what she was to Alec. If it wasn’t one o’clock in the morning and she wasn’t nestled with him in his bed that would bother her.

If Shareen was there she’d tell Rose to just enjoy it for what it was. Well. She’d tell Rose to shag him is what she’d say, Rose thought with an eye roll. Even if she thought he was interested the moment wasn’t for it. It was for sharing warmth and comfort; for tracing circles on his chest and letting him pepper her hair with kisses after he undid her plait. Most importantly it was for making certain he felt she was safe. Despite feeling as though he really wanted her there for her company, she also heard and felt his panic. It was real. His nightmares must have been real.

There was something off about sleeping with a bloke she hadn’t even been on a proper date with. Her mum would say she was bonkers, if she didn’t outright rake her over the coals. Shareen would… well, she’d be Shareen. Rose could’ve said no, could’ve gone over and said she couldn’t stay for one reason or another. Alec certainly expected as much, even if he was hoping otherwise. She could’ve volunteered to take the couch. But Alec was sweet, and they could both use a good cuddle. That’s all it was, she told herself. She trusted Alec. And there it was, their relationship in a nutshell. Trust, and the desire to comfort one another. For the moment that was brilliant in itself. Alec seemed to agree, because he dozed off in a matter of minutes.

The peace that fell over the room came as a surprise, riding in on a deep breath. When her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw flecks of moonlight dancing on the floor between the blinds. The room was cozy, bathed in pale blue walls and navy carpeting. Alec’s deep breaths provided the ambiance, soothing her ear and easing her eyes shut. She ought to have fallen asleep right after him, but spent several minutes shaking off little shreds of doubt. She replaced them with thoughts of how thin his pyjama bottoms were, that her thigh sat deliciously close to a choice piece of his anatomy. She moved it down his soft legs though, removing any temptations. Eventually the slow duet of his measured breaths and calm heartbeats did lull her to sleep.

She awoke with the sun just beginning to peak through the blinds and the potent aroma of coffee brewing wafting up from downstairs. He was still with her, breathing soft puffs of warm air onto the nape of her neck and tickling her bare skin with his scruff. At some point during the night they’d shifted into a spoon. Their limbs were tangled and there was at least half a foot between his stomach and her back. But the moment Rose wiggled he pulled her taut against him, grumbling in his sleep like a hibernating bear. Rose hid a smile in his pillow as she clutched it to her face as if somebody could see her moment of glee. She breathed in his scent and his crisp shampoo off the pillow as she did and sighed. Thank goodness he was asleep. He wouldn’t understand. Rose slid deeper beneath the covers to shield herself from the bedroom’s chill. Another hand wrapped around her, claiming exposed stomach along with her hip.

He was an entirely different man in his sleep. Rose sucked in a gasp through her nose when she became acutely aware of just how different. She stilled herself completely and felt heat split between her face and her sex as he pressed himself into her arse. She whispered his name, wondering if maybe he was waking up. Rose prepared herself for the inevitable awkward moment. A buck of his hips told her he was fast asleep. She stifled a swear into his pillow. At least he was asleep. Rose kept from moving or making sounds so he’d stay that way. Alec would never forgive himself otherwise.

She was working out one thing though. While Alec Hardy was a modest man, there was nothing of the sort about the cock rubbing against her bum. Rose shifted her hips, just slightly, to nestle him carefully between her thighs. Not an easy task with sweats on and a man with a vice grip on her. A moment later he was whispering her name into her neck and she bit back a moan as want pooled low in her abdomen. If only he knew how much torture this was, that his hips rutting into her bum were stoking the fires of a dull throbbing between her legs turning rather insistent in an instant. She moved with him, with the hopes that the friction of his cock rubbing against her clothed sex would ease up on the pressure a little. That only made her want less layers of fabric between them.

As far as Rose was concerned she had two options: wriggle free of Alec’s grip to skitter off to his en suite for an icy cold shower, or wake him up to let him know what he was doing. Alec had other ideas. And they rode in on a hot sigh breathed onto her shoulder. Rose’s eyes fluttered shut and she threaded her fingers through his on her belly. Desire (and the urge to flip him over and shag his stupid brains out) swelled with each grind of his hips against hers, and fuck did he know what he was doing? How did Rose go so many years without knowing this was something men did in their sleep? Staying still was not an option. She was going to lose her mind if she didn’t tend to the slick flesh mere layers from his eager manhood. His cupped lips at the join of her neck and shoulder did her in. What Alec Hardy was doing was entirely unfair if she was to be considered proper, whatever that meant anymore. The lines of propriety were blurring like a chalk drawing in the rain.

Was he a hopeful sort of man? Rose wondered this as she took a gander at his nightstand. He didn’t have much confidence in himself, and he certainly wasn’t looking for sex. (Or was he?) But if he had even the tiniest shred of hope inside the drawer just barely within reach would be at least a condom or two. Success! She reached in and plucked one before slamming the drawer shut, rousing her horny bed partner.

“Rose? Oh god -”

“Uh uh. I don’t think so. You’re not panickin’ your way out of this mister, not after that torture.”

Rose shoved the foil packet into the bewildered man’s hand and craned her neck to see the horror rising to his face. He shifted away from her, taking his raging hard on with him, but Rose pulled him back down. No way in hell was he going to do this to her after ringing her in the middle of the night, making her run all the way over, and torturing her with his salacious dreams bucking his hips into hers. No, she told herself. She wouldn’t allow it. Sense was lost to desire in the wee hours.

“Come here,” she appealed.

If he’d been properly awake Rose figured Alec would argue. Once he’d gotten over the initial shock he seemed quite amenable. Either that or the presently more dominant part of his anatomy was thinking for him. But he seemed barely awake. Caution was collectively kicked off their legs and thrown to the floor, or wherever their pyjama bottoms landed. He growled at the condom packet, and then cursed at the condom as he struggled with it. Bless him, had it been a while? At least his hips and hands knew exactly what to do still. He raked her back into a spoon and held her still as he found the right angle. She imagined him slipping right inside like a hand in a glove. What actually happened was a jerk of his hips, a shock, and a shared gasp. When the pain subsided and Alec was sheathed inside her Rose sighed. It hadn’t been that long for her, but it was _him_ , and she felt deliciously filled.

He must have agreed with her that it felt _too_ good. Only difference was he actually said something.

“It’s too soon for this,” Alec murmured into her hair as he began to rock his hips gently. His pace was erratic but slow.

“Yeah. Yeah, but you started it,” she muttered into a kiss on his arm beneath her head. She freed her hand from his and slid it between her legs to relieve the throbbing bundle of nerve endings he’d singlehandedly awoken.

“Let me, please.” He pushed her hand away from her clit and resumed her fingers’ position, squeezing gently. Rose moaned. “This isn’t how I would’ve… this isn’t how I wanted it with you.”

“You want this?” Rose turned her head and drank in the sex flush on his cheeks before stealing a wet kiss. His cool lips were soft after sleep, and tasted mild.

“I do,” he hissed.

“Then hush and fuck me.”

Alec pulled back and gulped. She felt his head looking down, realizing what they were doing. If he wasn’t awake before he was coming around now. There were two better, more appropriate words that came to mind in this situation in place of the rather crude ‘fuck.’ But if they weren’t ready to be fucking they definitely weren’t ready for those two words either. For a pair that weren’t ready though, Rose though they were bloody good at it. Alec focused on the task, but held on to the comfort of the safe space between sleep and wakefulness with the slow rocking of his hips. He moved with her in concert, as if each breath taken together was the push and pull of calm waves on the beach. He was every bit as gentle as she anticipated he might be (not that she did, mind). Soft moans and gasps barely reached above the peaceful silence wafting over them.

Only his wrist worked a little faster, chasing the pleasure coiling tightly in her abdomen with each thrust of his hips and squeeze of his fingers. If it hadn’t been for that it would’ve been the most relaxing shag of her life, Rose thought. Alec was sweeter than a man doing this for purely mechanical reasons ought to be. Rose’s reasons were different, but at the crack of dawn between his sheets mere weeks after meeting him she tried not to get her hopes up about his.

“Are you close, Rose?” he whispered as he brought a kiss to her ear that sent warm shivers down her spine.

She felt that shiver against her shirt and was thankful that at least they had their shirts on. A bit of mystique was saved for them with that last barrier intact. However, she was enjoying his soft thighs hugging hers a bit too much. And with every thrust of his hips sending electric tremors to her core she was reminded that Alec was inside her. It didn’t matter how sleepy he was or that he’d invited her over. At that moment Rose couldn’t think of what might be more intimate than sharing pleasure like this with someone she really cared for.

He picked up clues well, she was bloody well certain of that. Her muscles tightened and she curled her toes against his ankle as she writhed against him, answering his question with a bid for him to move faster. She sighed her approval with his name and heat rushed to her face when he broke his pace. He asked her to come for him in a bit of a stammer, bless him, and she blushed even harder. With his quickened pace the sway of the bed was joined with the meeting of wet flesh and their combined gulps for air as they eagerly chased a climax. This time when she arched away from him he let her, watched her claw his sheets and swore as she clenched around his cock. Her heart rang in her ears as they tumbled over the edge together.

Rose was asleep when Alec emerged from the shower. The thud of his dresser drawers roused her. She purred into a stretch and sat up, praising her perfect timing. She drank in the sight of Alec’s chest and stomach as he slipped on his oxford. She licked her lip and nipped back a pang of want as she committed the sight of his thin patch of chest hair and gently chiseled stomach. If her timing was better she’d slip out of bed and help him with his shirt, a delicately concealed attempt at tracing the subtle valleys of his muscles on his still glistening skin. She would’ve thought their romp in the bed earlier slaked her thirst. Just imagining running her fingers through his hair, gliding her nails down his bare back, truly making him come undone was her own undoing.

When she came out of her stupor his eyes were fixed on her too. Their eyes met and he scratched his beard.

“What?” she asked.

“There’s a woman in my bed. It’s odd, that’s all.”

Rose tucked away her daydreams for later once he’d buttoned his shirt and gave him a sleepy smile in the middle of a yawn. “Yeah, you dragged me over here, remember?”

“Never expected you to agree.”

She tucked her tongue between her teeth and her smile grew wider. “I’m glad I did.”

Alec approached her and sat down on the bed, keeping his head high, maybe to avoid what was beneath his duvet. “Have we made a mistake, Rose?”

“I dunno. Maybe. It felt right.”

She reached forward and helped him with his tie when he fumbled with it for the third time. He sat stock still and let her work. Rose felt his eyes wander south for a bit, but they immediately darted back up. He’d have gotten a decent view of her cleavage, she thought. Their experience made up for its impropriety with tenderness. She trusted Alec. She’d have asked him if he trusted her as well, but it felt odd after being so intimate. He groaned when she cupped his face in her hands, his beard tickling her palms and lips as she stole a kiss. Alec’s kisses were becoming addictive. They were hesitant and scruffy but tender and warm, just like he was.

His face was wrinkled with pain when he pulled away. “I’m not good at this. I’d muck it up and you’d be the one to suffer. I don’t want that for you.”

“You’re not worried about the case?” The words tasted a bit sour after his serious confession. Rose felt exposed, and not just because she was sitting half starkers on his bed after having slept with him and shagged him for the first time.

“I’m always worried about the case. You’ll testify no matter what happens, won’t you Rose?”

She brought her forehead to his and curled her fingers around his neck. Their noses met and she gave his a reassuring nuzzle. “Course I will. You’ve got nothing to worry about, except taking down Payne and his goons, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“D’you think I could pop into your shower?”

He croaked something resembling an affirmative and she giggled. She was glad she’d pack her uniform. Work was right downstairs, it’d be silly to go all the way back to her flat for a shower and breakfast. When Alec disappeared down the hall Rose hopped into his shower, tamping down her excited nerves as she became overwhelmed by the deliciously masculine aroma fogging up his ensuite. A shower was always good for clearing her head. Reality hit her with the chilled air as she stepped out, his towel clinging to her skin. It was difficult to regret coming over when he’d genuinely needed the comfort, but she felt a twinge of guilt for having sex with him. There was something just a bit delicate about the gruff detective, and Rose couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d taken advantage of him. Alec was a good man, and he deserved better. As she was getting dressed and putting on her stockings she sat on his bed and felt a distinct longing to climb back in to stay. If she was going to get there she wanted to do it right.

They spoke at once as she strode into his kitchen.

“Hey, Alec listen, I…”

“Rose about our date…”

Rose’s shoulders sunk with relief and she let herself lean on his back after peering around to see him making them breakfast. He’d read her mind. Their date was the perfect opportunity to hit the reset button. Rose didn’t want to forget their early morning… adventure. But she also wanted to dial everything back a little. Back to kisses and cuddles on the couch. Their relationship was a lot like driving, she thought. Go too fast and you’re likely to wreck. There was nothing wrong with a little bit of excitement, she figured, so long as they still played it safe.

“There’s a nice little restaurant -”

Rose started giggling. Alec chuffed.

“What?”

Rose wheeled around to meet him eye to eye. “I’m sure it’s lovely. But where’s the fun in that, hmm? You deserve a little break from all this. Clear your head. You’ll be a better cop for it.” Her eyes softened and she took a strengthening breath before adding, “And I want a chance to pedal back a little.”

“Good idea,” Alec agreed.

Rose pulled his hand away from his toast and held it in hers. She swallowed hard. “I don’t want to ruin this. Forget about the case for a moment. I wanna talk about _us_. We don’t have to figure out what that is just yet. But we’ve got something and I feel awful for taking advantage of it and you.”

“It’s okay, Rose. It was just as much my fault as it is yours.” They tore their eyes away from each other for a moment. “I mean choice. It was just as much my choice.” With his free hand he gently grabbed her chin and pulled it towards him. Rose closed her eyes, prepared for a kiss. When nothing but a cold breath hit her lips she took one for herself. “And I would make that choice again.”

Rose licked the tea and lemon off her lips and grinned. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Alec was difficult to read. His face was always stuck in neutral, but Rose knew he always spoke from the heart. And hers was thumping like a rabbit’s foot. She took a moment to revel in it, to swim in his tea-colored eyes as they gazed into hers. His brows seemed to be perpetually furrowed with worry, fatigue and consternation but when he looked at her lately his eyes were rounded and soft. He was a much gentler and sweeter man than he let on. It was a shame more people didn’t realize. Though she was okay with other _women_ not knowing, being honest.

“So what did you have in mind then, Miss Tyler?”

“Thought we might take a trip to the aquarium!”

He wrinkled his nose, and it was a lot cuter than she might have ever predicted. “Oh.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW. 
> 
> I’d like to thank anyone that might still be sticking with this story. I can’t promise when the next update will be, but this fic will be completed. That is a promise.

The Scotts were on their way to London from Fiji the next morning. They’d been on an extended holiday there, but it still shouldn’t have taken him damn near a week to get a hold of them. It had been detective work just short of a miracle he tracked them down in the first place. 

 

While an autopsy on Ms. Scott’s body was being performed Alec had gone over to Layla’s flat to investigate. It was appallingly emptier than his own. Madge’s had been warm and lived in. Ms. Scott’s was cold, neat, and devoid of personal photos and belongings. She hadn’t even owned a couch. She had a functional kitchen with a single mug. Who owns only one mug? Her bathroom contained what Alec would consider the bare necessities for a young woman. The only hint he got that a woman had even lived in that flat was a single makeup set and the contents of her closet. Even then, it barely contained any clothes. Ms. Scott was a 19-year-old university student, and probably paying her own way. But she should have had more lying about in her flat, or really anything lying about in her flat. It was all wrong. He’d found a phone number scrawled on a sticky note hastily tossed into the garbage disposal, and it had been to the Scotts’ hotel room in Fiji. But compared to the relative emptiness of the rest of the flat, that sticky note was out of place. It wasn’t supposed to be there. 

 

It became apparent that Ms. Scott had been on the run. If she was running from Payne and his thugs she wasn’t successful. But unlike Mr. Abrams, Ms. Scott was barely leaving a trace behind her. The Abrams’ home was lived in, photos strewn about their mantle and coats hung over chairs. Ms. Scott’s flat had been stripped bare. Alec had the entire place from floor to ceiling dusted for prints and checked for any traces of fluids - bodily or otherwise - and came up empty. No prints, only bleach and other cleaning agents. Nothing. The entire visit to her flat sprouted more questions than it answered. Who cleaned her flat? Why strip it of so many belongings and leave only the bare essentials? What were they trying to erase by cleaning it all up? Additionally, the method of cleaning was entirely different from the job on the van. Whoever had done it had much more time on their hands, because barely a trace was left. Alec had a difficult time believing a young university student would borrow money from a gangster like Payne. So why was she running? He needed to speak with her parents to hopefully gain any answers. 

 

But it would take the Scotts a day to get to London. With forensics handling the contents of Ms. Scott’s flat, techs spending all hours of the day attempting to piece together her mobile, and Alec having already poured over the rest of what he had, his case was stalled. At least for a day, hopefully for not much longer. Every day he didn’t move closer to an arrest he grew angrier and increasingly impatient. It wasn’t good for his heart but he didn’t bloody care. Marvin could breathe down his neck all he wanted. Justice for Madge and Layla was much more of a salve for his heart than any stupid pills or surgery he wasn’t suited for. 

 

A day with Rose made a suitable bandage, albeit temporary. Alec greatly admired her ability to forget her stressors for even a few minutes, let alone several hours. She was a beautiful creature whose company he didn’t deserve, particularly not after what he’d done to her. Rose should have someone better than a feeble man ringing her in the dead of night to keep him company after a bad dream, a man that wouldn’t take advantage of her once she’d placed her trust in him. Maybe she wanted it as much as he had, but if he’d contained himself as he should’ve been able to it wouldn’t have been an issue. Alec would be worrying more about what to wear for their date rather than how long he would wait before he would allow himself to get that close to Rose again (if ever, it could’ve been a fluke). 

 

Rose had already left her mark on his flat. Alec washed her tea mug she’d used that morning after they slept together, but he didn’t put it away. The cream-colored ceramic mug painted with bright orange lilies may as well belong to her now. He’d picked it up at a thrift store after moving in because he still had a tiny bit of hope he could pick himself up again, and he didn’t want any female at his flat having to use his drab brown mugs. This one was a little ray of sunshine brightening up his cabinet, and now faithfully sat on his counter in front of the window. She had her own side of the bed, even if she left no evidence of her presence there aside from a couple stray strands of her honey hair on his pillow. Rose had wrapped her soft skin up in the scent of his body wash and towel. He hadn’t seen it, but the mental image alone was dizzying. 

 

Now with her having left a mark on his flat she consumed Alec’s daydreams as well, everywhere he turned a reminder of her caught his attention. She had a way of coaxing every waking thought in her direction. It had to stop. He awoke that morning to a text from her reminding him of their date, and that he better show up. XO. A hug and a kiss. He was already beginning to wonder what he might do without those. She fit into his arms like his long lost piece to his puzzle. Her kisses prickled his skin like a fresh breeze on a summer day. He cherished them, not only because it had been so bloody long since a woman who truly cared for him wanted to touch him so intimately, but also because it all felt too right. Their blossoming relationship wasn’t unlike daffodils reaching up for spring’s first touch of warmth. They never lasted very long before the cold snap returned to shrivel them back into the ground. Well, she was the daffodil while Alec was a wilting weed finally getting its comeuppance. Rose, sweet princess of his heart, deserved so much more than what he’d given her, than him period. 

 

There was one tiny place all of these thoughts were put away. Alec’s shower. At least the one time. Afterward he’d decided he needed to contain himself more. He’d woken up just fine that morning, as normally as could be expected. All it took was one little text from Rose and the realization that she was thinking of him first thing in the morning to conjure memories of her in his bed half naked beneath his sheets. Her smile had turned bashful yet wicked when he caught a glimpse of her cleavage and nipples budding against her shirt in the chilled morning air. He’d been just fine until that memory popped up (along with something else). At least part of him was in good working order. A cold shower would change that right quick. But he was already a nervous wreck teetering on the edge of anxiety over a simple date. He’d not add to his pile of nerves. That was the worst and best excuse for a wank he’d ever concocted. 

 

The night Rose stayed over Alec’s dreams shifted from horrific to sinfully pleasant. As long as Rose was safe in his arms, all his failings and the case didn’t matter. He’d forgotten all about his dream once he woke up anyway, with his erection buried between her thighs. Everything was wrong about that situation, but Rose wasn’t hearing any of it. The urge to be the voice of reason lost to two years of involuntary celibacy and even more of being turned away. To say that Rose welcomed his touch was an understatement that morning. 

 

“Come here,” she’d whispered, voice husky from sleep still. 

 

The cascade of warmth streaming down the ridges of Alec’s spine was no substitute for Rose’s embrace, not when he could recall in intimate detail how snug her arse was with his hips and how smooth her thighs were. The steady stream of water in the background wasn’t a replacement for her squeaky moans, her quiet praises, and certainly not her lewd command to fuck her. His heart functioned perfectly for once, replaying Rose’s words ‘fuck me’ in his mind, pulse racing ahead of him. Alec coiled his fingers around his manhood and braced his other hand on the steamy glass, pushing away any stray bits of guilt hanging on his shoulders. 

 

When he stepped out of the shower he’d remember that what had happened with Rose in his bed shouldn’t have. But as long as the steam fogged up his en suite and suds were traveling down from his navel to his cock he didn’t bloody care. He shut his eyes and traveled back there, to Rose rocking her hips in time with his and digging her head into his arm as he massaged her hot button between his fingers. As much as he yearned for relief his hand pumped slowly, matching the leisurely pace he’d taken with her that morning. As he kicked his head back he imagined the jets of water tingling his scalp were her fingers carding through his hair, that his own fingers encircling the head of his cock were her delicate ones. He groaned her name and curled his toes on the slick porcelain. 

 

Even at this pace Alec wouldn’t last long before he’d tumble over the edge. His memories were too vivid, his desires too strong. For a few minutes Rose’s pleasure had been surrendered to him, cheeks ripened like strawberries when he asked her for it. He still bore very faded marks on his arm from her teeth as her silky warmth clenched tight around his length, talon fingers clawing at his sheets. He came undone to the memory of his goddess keening his name (albeit in between swears), the echo of her sweet delicate mewls traveling straight to his cock where his wrist pumped ever faster. He fell back to the fogged up glass, slick skin sticking to it. As his chest heaved to catch up, there was more than just soap between his fingers. The evidence of this easily washed down the drain, but the problem remained. 

 

Alec wanted the best for Rose. He hadn’t just decided this on a whim. He wanted someone for her that was in better shape, someone that’d treat her like a princess, somebody that wasn’t constantly worrying about what was around the corner waiting to pull the rug out from under them. He texted her to make doubly certain she wanted to go out with him, to which she replied, “of course silly.” He was to meet her at her flat so they could travel to the aquarium together. Rose would’ve simply met him there, but Alec wasn’t passing up a chance to escort her and keep her safe. Nobody was touching her, nobody was putting out her radiant smile, not on his watch. 

 

Alec met Rose at her flat after eating a compulsory breakfast. Not a moment after her door was shut behind him, she leapt into his arms and stole his breath with a kiss. He was so taken aback he nearly hadn’t noticed she wasn’t dressed, clad only in a towel. Was that allowed? What happened to pedaling back a bit? Rose was breaking the rules, skating on the thin ice of propriety, whatever that was anymore. He’d gone to all the trouble of finding a nice jumper and trousers to put on so he’d be presentable for the lass. And here she was, breasts nearly bursting out the fluffy white fabric, curves begging to be explored. This was cruel. Alec was being a gentleman while Rose was answering her door nearly naked. 

 

“You’re not dressed,” he grumbled, looking up at the ceiling.

 

She ran her fingers down the patterns on his jumper and nipped her bottom lip. “You look nice.” 

 

Alec cleared his throat. “You said 9:30. You’re still wet.”

 

Why did this make her blush? “Yeah I was in the shower when you knocked. Got a bit distracted this morning is all.” She pecked his lips to pacify him. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes. There’s tea in the kitchen. Bit cold probably but the scones I nicked from work are still good.” 

 

“You steal pastries from your work?” he asked as she turned to head towards her bedroom. 

 

“What, you gonna arrest me, copper?”

 

“No,” he croaked.

 

That salacious tongue of hers peeked between her teeth as she was slipping into her bedroom. She poked just her head out the door and dropped her towel to the floor where he could see. “Oh live a little, Alec.” 

 

If living a little meant following a naked Rose into her bedroom, Alec gave up fighting the growing desire to live a little. He could live a lot. He could lower her onto her bed, slowly peel off the clothes he’d put on for her before chasing her under the sheets and sinking his hips between her creamy thighs. If he’d arrest her for anything, he would charge her with being so bloody wicked, tempting him as she was. He had a difficult time believing Rose hadn’t done this on purpose. He’d done his part to make certain he’d be level headed for the day, and here she was tempting him. But his sanity was grateful when she reappeared a few minutes later, dressed in a t-shirt, jacket, skirt and leggings. 

 

The trip to the aquarium was relatively peaceful. Alec still didn’t let his guard down, despite Rose taking his hand or resting hers on his leg. Complacence was dangerous when Payne’s victims were piling up by the week. He promised Rose no case, but he couldn’t help using it as a reminder to keep her safe. Having her by his side acting as his source of calm and smiles was becoming very much the norm. She’d teased him when she found out he hadn’t been to the aquarium before. He stopped in his tracks when they approached the exhibits. 

 

“Alec? You coming?” Rose tugged on his already clammy hand. 

 

Alec couldn’t answer, eyes glued to the glass ceiling and fish above his head. He froze, brows knit as he struggled to form words, any explanation that was better than the panic welling up in his chest, surrounded by water on all sides. Rose stepped in front of him, thumb sweeping across the back of his hand as she met his gaze with concern. 

 

“Alec, love, what’s wrong?”

 

He disregarded the term of endearment fluttering between her caring words. He’d probably misheard anyway. His heart was drumming in his ears. 

 

“Don’t like the water,” he finally admitted. 

 

Somebody else he knew might’ve teased him or urged him on. Rose was very much not her. “You could’ve told me.” He shook his head. “It’s thick glass. We don’t have to stay, could go to a restaurant like you wanted, have an early lunch?” 

 

Again he shook his head. She’d wanted to go to the aquarium, so here they were. “No, I’m fine.” He took a deep breath and squeezed her hand. 

 

Alec spent the better part of that morning with his hand glued to Rose’s, buoying his sense of peace with her calm. Even though he was being incredibly irrational she didn’t point this out, didn’t make a fuss over him acting like a child. Admittedly he spent much more time admiring Rose than the stupid fish. Her face lit up like the first morning light when she was excited. She’d told him she hadn’t been to the aquarium since her eighth birthday when her mum brought her. Alec would do just about anything to hear his daughter speak of him with such reverence as Rose did her mother. Rose’s memories of her childhood were far more pleasant-sounding than his own. He aimed to keep her current ones the same way. 

 

“No case today, remember? You promised,” Rose chided. 

 

“I’m not thinking of the case.” 

 

“What then?”

 

“It’s not important.”

 

She didn’t press him on this, which he was thankful for. In the middle of an aquarium was not the place for that discussion, if he’d been willing, which presently he wasn’t. She didn’t need to be burdened with his sob stories. Why she even enjoyed his company as much as she did was still a mystery to him. 

 

She gushed over the sea turtles. Alec could relent and admit the slow, majestic creatures had their charm. At least until Rose told him they reminded her of him. What on Earth about the swimming helmets with fins reminded her of him? Evidently he’d been making at face at this, because she commented that it looked like theirs too. She said they shared deep eyes but frowned too much. He wasn’t certain if he should thank her or be insulted by this. He didn’t put more thought into it after she kissed him and stroked his beard. If being akin to a bloody turtle got him kisses he wasn’t about to complain. 

 

“Aww Alec seahorses!” Rose cooed, and dragged him into a little alcove. She was reading the plaques before she even looked at the tiny creatures in their colorful tanks. “Says they often mate for life because with how small they are it’s difficult to find a mate. Isn’t that romantic?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“Aww now don’t turn your nose up like that. Look, this one says the longer they stay together the better they are at breeding. Best for their survival if they stick together. You can’t tell me that’s not sweet.”

 

He squeezed her hand and brought up a little smile. “If you say so.”

 

Alec could feel Rose’s eyes rolling as they moved on. After roaming the aquarium at a leisurely pace for a few hours they came to a dead end, a blockade in the middle of the pathway. Rose complained, citing that she could spot something swimming around just past the wooden blocks. There was nobody down this far into the aquarium, she noted while looking around. Alec put his foot down, even when she batted her eyes at him. He told her it was a dreadful idea. Naturally she ignored him and stepped over the blockade, poking that tongue of hers between her teeth as she went. He followed, but only to keep her stubborn arse out of trouble. She froze when she saw what occupied the closed off room. 

 

They watched him silently for a few solid minutes as Rose nestled herself in Alec’s arms. He wrapped them around her waist and pressed intermittent kisses to her crown. Unlike the stupid turtles, Alec felt for this solitary creature, treading the same path around his enclosure over and over again without deviation. He had enrichment to play with, which he ignored. It wasn’t for a lack of privacy, since he didn’t even cast a glance their way. He simply didn’t care. He moved with no purpose carrying him but to live. If he knew what to do with himself he didn’t act on it. 

 

“He’s lonely.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Rose threaded her fingers through Alec’s on her stomach and nuzzled his arm. “He needs a lady friend too.”

 

He chuffed. “Rose, dolphins aren’t seahorses. They don’t mate for life.” 

 

“A friend then. Anybody. Look at him, he’s miserable, the poor baby.” 

 

“Maybe he’s been penned off in preparation to be set free or sent elsewhere.”

 

“God I hope so. Can’t stand to see him like this.”

 

“Dolphins don’t do well in captivity, I read.”

 

Rose whirled about in his arms and pecked his chin. “Nobody does well alone, Alec. We all need somebody to trust and rely on, somebody to travel with, keep us company, somebody that understands us.” 

 

They stayed with him for a while. Alec couldn’t bring himself to tear Rose away from the dolphin. She sat on a bench in front of the glass, pressing her hand to it offering support. The silly creature couldn’t know she sympathized with him, but it made her feel better. Alec began to wonder if that’s how Rose saw him, a lonely creature needing a friend. She had a bigger heart than most. It made sense. Near closing he finally got Rose to say goodbye to the dolphin, wishing him well. Rose and Alec both refused to believe anything but that he was off to better places where he wouldn’t be lonely. She hugged the stuffed sea turtle he bought her at the gift shop to her chest all the way home, making a point of telling Alec she’d named it after him. 

 

“I know you’re busy with the case and all. But I’d love to go out again, have that dinner out maybe?” Rose offered in front of her door. Alec had stepped inside only so they weren’t in plain view of everyone. She was just a pinch more timid now than she’d been all day, even when they stood in the same spot that morning with her wearing nothing but a small towel. “Maybe make it a regular thing? If that’s okay?” 

 

They’d gone so far already, yet Rose still respected him enough to ask. Alec tucked Rose’s hair behind her ear as she was reaching up, and brought his forehead to hers. They shared warm breaths. Every inch of him should have been wanting to tell her no because it wasn’t the time for it; it was improper of him; he was too old and broken; and as he shut his eyes to kiss her he knew his princess deserved better. It all involved telling her no and turning her down. That made his eyes gloss over and his chest tighten more than the reasons he ought to. Their lips squeaked as he pulled away, taking in the sight of her to memorize. Her dark golden eyes glistened, and bore her heart. This scared him a lot more than the potential threat on her life or his failing health. 

 

“I’d like that,” Alec said as he straightened up and cleared his throat. 

 

“Ring me in the morning?”

 

“What for?” 

 

“Dunno, to say hello?” She giggled at him. “That’s what normal people do, the ones that actually sleep at night instead of going into work like you’re thinking of doing. In fact, I think Alec and I might turn in a bit early tonight.” She pecked his cheek and winked, hugging her new friend to her hip. 

 

He rolled his eyes. “See you soon then.” 

 

Before he could call ring her in the morning he received a text from the techs at work about Ms. Scott’s mobile. They were able to pull the last text she’d received, the day before Madge was murdered. It read: 

 

_ 48 Bucknall House, Powell Estate. Rose. Check there first. _

  
  
  



End file.
